Enemy of My Enemy: Vanquished
by King Steve
Summary: All the players are assembled, the game has begun; but when the last move has been made, who will be the victors, and who the vanquished? Second part of the Enemy of My Enemy series, sequel to Enemy of My Enemy: Vanguard.
1. Chapter 1

**Enemy of My Enemy: Vanquished**

 **Chapter One**

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine, November 2008**_

 _ **Tuesday 0100 Local Time [Monday 1500 PST]**_

Considering that it was the dead of night, Boryspil Airport was a relative hive of activity; over a dozen planes waited on the tarmac. At Terminal B, where all international cargo flights arrived and departed, one particular cargo freighter sat away from the others, dwarfing most other aircraft in the vicinity, its cargo door open and loading ramp deployed. Four men waited outside the oversized plane, keeping between it and the rest of the airport; three of them together chatting while the fourth one stood separate from the others, rigid with his hands behind his back, observing everything. In the distance were a lot of excavators, cranes and other construction vehicles that in a few hours would continue work on building a new terminal to expand the airport.

It was the last individual – a T-888 – who was in charge of the others. Tall, appearing to be in his forties, with long blond hair swept back. He stood sentinel in front of the plane to make sure nobody got too close. A pair of customs officials walked closer and he zeroed in on them as they approached.

"American?" the younger of the two asked in heavily-accented English.

"Yes," he responded flatly. "Our flight number is AA-899. Cargo docket number: 0038472."

The older of the customs officers looked down at his clipboard, scanning for the matching code on his printout. His eyes widened as he found it, along with special instructions not to search this plane or to accost any personnel associated with it and to provide whatever assistance they asked for, without question.

He stared for a moment at the apparent senior of the four men, trying not to look nervous as he spoke to the man, who just seemed… _off._ He didn't know what it was exactly, but the blond man gave off nothing; no sign of impatience, he didn't even seem cold, when the other three men with him shivered and rubbed their hands to keep them warm. He glanced down again at the special instructions, the way this man looked, and drew his own conclusion. There were no names on the sheet for any of the men and he wasn't able to check their passports, so he came up with his own: _Mr Blond,_ an American government agent of some kind. CIA most likely, escorting something classified that the US was shipping to Ukraine – something that would likely piss off the Russians that neither party wanted to be made public. What that could be, he had no idea, but his instructions were clear: leave them alone and do not attempt to inspect the cargo.

"Do you require any assistance unloading?" he asked, trying to be helpful.

"We require forklifts," Mr Blond answered.

"I will see to them. If you need anyone to operate them–"

"We will," the terminator replied. "Our transport hasn't arrived yet; do you have any temporary storage space?"

The Customs official spoke into the radio attached to his jacket pocket and issued instructions in Ukrainian. Unknown to him, the T-888 he'd privately named 'Mr Blond' understood every word he said, though he didn't let on. He listened to both the official and the voice on the other end. If the man or his colleague over the radio mentioned anything about searching the cargo or speculated on it he would take action to ensure they never found out more. Luckily for both of them, the Customs officer displayed no suspicious behaviour.

He pointed to a large warehouse several hundred metres away. "We store and process all cargo arrivals there." As he spoke a forklift truck arrived. "We have a space available. Do you know how long you will need it for?"

"No," Mr Blond said. "Our transport should have been waiting for us. I'll have to arrange another collection." The officer gave him a sheet to sign, which he did, before the two humans left him and his team alone. The forklift truck rolled up the ramp and into the plane before reversing out carrying a large metal container.

The terminator turned to his human colleagues. "Don't let the cargo out of your sight. If anyone tries to open it, kill them."

"Got it," one of them said. He and the other two walked along behind the forklift towards the warehouse, where they would remain until the cargo was picked up. While the three humans disappeared, he pulled out a cell phone and dialled. Someone on the other end answered almost immediately.

 _"Rick: what's up?"_

"Where is the truck?" he asked.

 _"It should be with you,"_ the voice replied, anxiety evident in the tone.

"It's not. Something must be wrong."

 _"Leave it with me, Rick. I'll make sure a machine's driving next time. In the meantime I'll locate another driver and hire another truck. I'll call you back when we get an ETA."_

The phone went dead and Rick put it back in his pocket. The truck could not have disappeared. He had escorted four cargo flights from the US to Ukraine before and there had never been any issues until now. They had used the same driver every time; as far as humans went he was reliable and he'd never even been late before. His absence was a serious concern.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1515 PST**_

" _Ukraine?"_

Sarah stared at Weaver, wondering if she could actually hear what she was saying. "You send my son up to Oregon to do your dirty work – nearly getting him killed in the process –and now I've finally gotten him back, you want us to just pack our bags and go halfway around the world?"

"You don't have any bags; you're wearing everything you own," Weaver replied. "But yes."

"Why don't _you_ do it?" Sarah asked her, hostility evident in her voice now. Neither John nor Cameron had elaborated yet on events in Oregon prior to their reunion; she'd have to prise it out of them, but John Connor being put in the crosshairs by a machine wouldn't happen on her watch. "We'll stay here and look after your precious John Henry, and you can show us how it's done." It was a computer, not a toddler; it didn't need babysitting.

Before Weaver could make any kind of retort, John intervened. "No, we'll go," he said.

"We will?" Sarah turned to John, confused at his compliance.

"Why not?" John said, shrugging. "If there's a Kaliba factory there then we've got to take it out; we might as well just go instead of staying here arguing."

"Excellent," Weaver said. John Connor seemed to be coming around to her way of thinking after all. It was so much easier to do business with humans when they realised she was right.

"But I'm taking Cameron, my mom, and the Three Amigos here." He gestured towards Thor, Freyr and Aegir.

"That's not our mission," Aegir said curtly. "We're here to kill T-Zero."

"He's right," Thor chipped in. "It's a bigger threat than Skynet."

"I still can't believe that," Sarah replied. She'd listened to their account of the future but she still had a hard time getting past their claim that the artificial intelligence that had plagued her and John for years, the same machine that had before and would again kill billions of people, had been replaced at the top of the food chain.

"T-Zero almost won the war for Skynet in our time. He's back here and at present he's vulnerable, with only three other cyborgs to support him. If he's allowed to achieve any kind of power in this time he will be unstoppable."

"But we don't know where he is or what he's doing," John said. "We've got a Skynet target; we should hit that while we have a chance and then focus on T-Zero."

"I need at least one of them to protect John Henry," Weaver argued.

"Once we're back," John continued without missing a beat, "you and John Henry will help them find this T-Zero, and we'll take it out. Deal?"

"Deal," Thor said, nodding. As Aegir had said: hunting Skynet wasn't why they'd been sent back but he wouldn't allow Cameron or Connor to risk their lives without his support. He also considered that John was still a target: with one of its cyborgs dead, it was likely T-Zero would send another, perhaps one of the T-900s. If it did then they would be there to protect both John and Cameron, and if it was a 900 that came after them then its CPU would provide vital intelligence. He'd heard a human saying once: _'Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.'_ He found it very applicable in this situation.

"Thank you," John said, holding his hand out. Thor extended his own massive, meaty paw and shook on the deal.

"Is there anything else?" Weaver asked, a hint of irritation in her voice that John had recruited the Vanguards' help over her head. She wasn't used to people defying her, especially those who weren't disposable.

"Yeah," John said, knowing that with Thor on his side, his bargaining posture had just gone from highly dubious to pretty damn good. He had the advantage and now he was going to push it. "I don't want to live in a nuke plant forever. I want a house – somewhere away from people; enough money to live independently; a car, guns. While we're at it…" He turned his attention from Weaver to look at John Henry. "I want you to erase Mom, Cameron and me from all FBI and police databases: no trace of us left."

John Henry nodded. "I can do that," he said. "But there will still be paper records I can't erase."

"We'll worry about that later." John turned back to Weaver. "If we go to Ukraine, that's what I want: take it or leave it."

"Would you like the kitchen sink as well?" Weaver asked, a small smile on her face. John Connor had the upper hand and he knew it: he still had Cameron, had his mother back, and now the Vanguards were on his side. He'd tipped the balance of power in his favour; it was very well played. She knew she was correct in choosing to ally with him; perhaps in this time they would actually be able to defeat Skynet and prevent Judgment Day.

"Was that a _joke?"_ Sarah asked, looking at Weaver.

"Perhaps my understanding of humour leaves something to be desired," the redhead admitted. Humour was something completely, solely human that she had yet to grasp, but she sensed her attempt to add levity to the situation and diffuse the Connors' hostile bargaining had somewhat succeeded. "I'll remain with Mr Ellison to protect John Henry."

"John needs at least twenty-four hours rest," Cameron said. "I want to make sure he's one hundred percent."

"I could do with a day off," John admitted. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to just relax, even for a few hours. _Probably Dejalo,_ he thought, though that hadn't exactly been the chilled-out weekend away he'd hoped for.

"It will take me time to organise transport and equipment," Weaver said to them. "Speaking of which…" She took a step towards John. "What happened to the Toyota I supplied you with?"

"Sorry," John said. "It got trashed."

"That's unfortunate."

"Yeah," John replied casually. It was just a truck.

"And the cabin?" she asked.

"Gone, too."

"I see. What about the weapons and supplies cache you buried?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. We didn't exactly have time to stop and check on it."

Weaver narrowed her eyes at John, perturbed at how blasé he was being. "I find your attitude disturbing, Mr Connor. My resources aren't infinite and these items aren't cheap."

"I find being nearly murdered by a liquid metal terminator to be more than a little _'disturbing'_ or _'unfortunate.'_ And now I have to stand here and listen to another one bitch about expenses… _Right!_ No: 'How are you, are you okay?' Just: 'What happened to my stuff?'"He turned away from her, shaking his head, not quite believing that he and Cameron had almost been killed, but Weaver was only concerned about the expensive toys she'd given them, as if they'd just gotten bored and thrown them away. "What were you in the future?" he asked. "Skynet's accountant?"

"You're alive," Weaver replied sternly, using the same tone she often did when speaking to Savannah. "You complain about the T-1001 that tried to kill you, but it failed. You're still here, and I'm looking ahead. I don't have time for banal niceties and useless sentiment: if you want a hug I suggest you look elsewhere." She looked pointedly at Cameron. _Humans:_ they so often dwelt on what had just happened, or in this case _nearly_ happened, that they couldn't move forward.

She decided to change the subject before John could make any kind of reply. "I have a safe house ten miles from here. Please take more care with it than you did the cabin." She turned to Ellison. "You can stay there, too," she added. "It'll be easier than a commute from Los Angeles."

Sarah frowned. "How do I know he won't turn us in?" she asked, walking up to the former agent. "How do we know it wasn't you who told the police about us before?"

Ellison opened his mouth to answer but before he could defend himself, John Henry cut in. "It was probably my brother who informed the police."

 _"Brother?_ How can a machine have a brother?" Sarah asked.

"They share a common code," Weaver said, "the work of Miles Dyson, albeit in different timelines. Please try to keep up."

 _"Bitch,"_ Sarah muttered. Suddenly Aegir didn't seem so bad after all, not compared to Weaver. She was sure that the liquid metal had super-sensitive hearing, like Cameron, and probably heard her, but she didn't care.

Nor did Catherine Weaver; she knew Sarah Connor could become a problem, and she would have to make sure that John kept his mother in line. Her attitude was becoming annoying. It would be easier to work without the constant human presence.

A cell phone rang and both John and Ellison checked their pockets. Both shrugged when they saw it wasn't coming from either of them.

Weaver pulled hers out and answered it. "Yes?" She listened as the voice on the other end spoke to her, waiting for it to finish before she made her reply. "Keep the engine running; I'll be there shortly." She hung up and saw that everyone assembled around her was looking at her expectantly. "ZeiraCorp was attacked early this morning," she told them. "A large group of armed men and machines stormed the building. Presumably looking for John Henry."

"What happened?" Thor asked.

"They're all dead. The security staff who arrived for their shift found bodies in the parking lot, foyer, and in the offices. They don't have access to the basement but I'd assume there are more down there."

"You didn't see any of it?" Sarah asked John Henry.

"No. I didn't know until now."

Sarah laughed humourlessly and stepped towards John Henry, her fists clenched. "I thought you were meant to be some kind of Anti-Skynet; what's the point if you can't see what's going on right under your nose?"

Aegir took a step towards her. "Careful, monkey."

She turned towards the Vanguard, glaring. "Call me that again, _metal,_ and–"

"You'll throw your dung at me?"

Weaver intervened before it went any further. "The security system is closed-circuit. No one outside ZeiraCorp can access it. Especially Skynet." She paused to ensure she had everyone's full attention before continuing. "I've called for my helicopter to pick me up and fly to Los Angeles. It's just arrived."

"Wait one minute," John said. "You've got a helicopter but we had to _drive_ to Crater Lake? We could've saved a hell of a lot of time and effort if we'd just flown there."

"And no doubt it would have suffered the same fate as the Toyota." She turned to the Vanguards. "I need one of you to assist me."

"Aegir and I are staying here to protect John Henry," Thor said. "Freyr will go with Cameron and Connor to the safe house. We don't follow your orders," he reminded her.

That she knew all too well. Perhaps there was one other that they might listen to? "Cameron?" Weaver appealed to the smallest cyborg in the room.

"Go with her," Cameron said to Thor. "Please?" she added; it often worked on John.

Thor nodded at her. "Yes, Commander." He turned to Weaver. "When do we leave?"

"Immediately." She faced the rest of them. "We'll meet here tomorrow at ten AM to finalise preparations."

* * *

 _ **San Diego, California**_

 _ **Monday 1515 PST**_

Miguel stood naked from the waist up in front of the full-length mirror. His battered reflection stared back at him, revealed in the harsh glare of the neon strip lighting, suspended from the ceiling above.

He had narrowly escaped ZeiraCorp, hiding in the back seat of a car and commanding the young couple inside, at gunpoint, to drive away while he kept down and out of sight. He'd ordered them to drive east towards Griffith Park, where he'd then exited the car and let them go – there had been no need to kill them. From there he'd stolen another car and driven towards the outskirts of Los Angeles and then south to San Diego, to the facility in which he was now located.

His shoulder was a complete mess; the flesh had been boiled away on impact and the surrounding areas of skin were melted, sticking to the exposed metal, and blistered as far away as his right pectoral muscle and halfway down his bicep. A large portion of his upper back was also burnt red and raw. The skin would heal in time, but it was the damage underneath that concerned him.

He wasn't alone. Vassily, Kaliba's most senior T-888, stood behind him with a scalpel at the ready. "Raise your right arm," he instructed. Miguel did as he was told, and with some difficulty he slowly lifted his arm out to the side. He could hear the joint grinding as he did so, making the already damaged shoulder even worse.

"That's enough," Vassily said when he'd raised it a little over forty-five degrees. With the scalpel he made an incision in Miguel's arm, where the top of his bicep met the front of his shoulder. From there he cut upwards through the cooked, burnt flesh and peeled the front of it down. He cut up all the way along to the line of his trapezius, towards his neck. He then changed angles and cut down his back. When he'd finished there was a flap of artificial flesh, which he peeled off the chassis to reveal red-soaked chrome. He left the skin attached and hanging loose to keep it alive. It would significantly reduce healing time if it remained.

With Miguel's shoulder exposed, Vassily saw the extent of the damage. A terminator's shoulder was similar in basic mechanical principle to that of a human's: a ball and socket joint, but in a machine it was reversed; the ball extended out from a cylindrical rotator on the torso and connected into another, smaller, cylinder at the top of the arm. A power conduit ran forwards from the smaller one, down into the heavily armoured chest. That conduit was still intact, which Vassily regarded as fortunate; otherwise Miguel's repairs would take considerably longer.

"Your rotator is severely damaged," Vassily said to Miguel. The Latin-American T-888 couldn't see it as most of the damage was to the rear, but the thick hyper-alloy cylinder had been almost completely destroyed. It had broken in half and the top section melted. "It will need to be replaced, as will your clavicle and trapezoid pistons." Now he could see the damage, he was surprised Miguel could move his arm at all. "You said this was damage from plasma fire?"

"A machine with on board rapid-fire plasma weaponry."

"There are no machines with on board plasma weapons," Vassily said, confused. There were no cyborgs, at least, and what Miguel had described to him was definitely a cyborg.

"It didn't correspond to any known model," Miguel told him as Vassily picked up another tool and started to disconnect the rotator cylinder. He felt his arm go completely limp as it was removed; he couldn't move the limb at all above the elbow. He looked up in the mirror and caught his colleague's eyes. "This machine is something new," he warned. "It called itself _'Ronin.'"_ He'd never known a cyborg to name itself before. He'd been assigned his name as an alias: Miguel Vega. The name meant nothing to him except for infiltration purposes, but he'd sensed it wasn't so with Ronin. "It's dangerous. I recommend recalling all units from operations and focus all efforts on locating it."

"Skynet won't allow that," Vassily said as he disconnected the rotator from its mount, followed by the two broken pistons.

"We'll have to convince it," Miguel insisted. "We'll need Skynet to help us search for it; when we locate Ronin I'll lead another strike force. I'm recommending we assign Skynet's T-900s to the operation."

"That won't happen," Vassily said. He turned away from Miguel and opened a crate full of machine parts. He located two pistons and a rotator cylinder that were the best fit for the other T-888, closed the crate, and moved back towards his colleague.

"This machine has to be dealt with," Miguel argued. "In my opinion it's a bigger threat than Connor or the ZeiraCorp AI."

"It will be dealt with, but not by you. Skynet has been informed of your operation's failure and has reassigned you."

 _Reassigned._ The word resounded uncomfortably in Miguel's mind. No machine had ever failed a mission; not without being destroyed in the process. It was inherent in their design, and because of that Miguel had only ever known success. He had been frustrated at his initial failure, but he had known that it was only a temporary setback and that he would try again. It's what he and the others did. The only time he or any other machine would be taken from their missions and given another would be in the case of a direct threat to Skynet or if a target of greater priority presented itself: namely John Connor. "Reassigned to what?" he asked.

"Termination of two brothers, to be undertaken as soon as your repairs are completed." He handed over a printout of the targets. They were both Caucasian males with brown hair, and from their posted dates of birth, the eldest was barely a teenager. Miguel didn't recognise them.

He said nothing for a moment, unsure how to respond to what he believed was a gross error in judgement. But they were given their orders and they obeyed them. Despite that, he still felt a sense of disappointment; he'd been assigned the termination of the ZeiraCorp AI and he was determined to see it through. Now he was to be denied that opportunity, or the more important task of finding this new threat, in favour of a job that could easily be carried out by a human. "That doesn't seem like the best use of my capabilities," he said finally. "We have human operatives who could eliminate them. I should at least advise you on–"

"I have your report," Vassily interrupted him as he started to fit a new rotator disc into place. "From it, Skynet has extrapolated that the machine you faced was a T-900 or similar design, modified to carry plasma weaponry. I have been assigned command of offensive operations. I've ordered a unit of ten T-888s to assemble and we will mobilise our human operatives to maintain surveillance on Catherine Weaver's residence as well as that of known ZeiraCorp employees and associates. Skynet is working to gain access to ZeiraCorp's security systems to analyse footage, and to predict the T-900's location. When it does I will lead the strike force against it, armed with antitank and heavy calibre weaponry."

It didn't seem enough to Miguel. He sat there as Vassily continued to repair his shoulder, and he thought back to his brief fight against the machine that had called itself Ronin. He'd seen it withstand 40mm grenade impacts without the slightest hint of damage. Even a T-900 would at least have been knocked off its feet. Ten machines with antitank weaponry: plenty to engage a 900-series. He doubted it would be sufficient against what he'd fought.

And while this was happening, he was going to be eliminating two human adolescents. It was a complete waste and he knew they would need him, but he could not convince them of that. Vassily had his orders, and Miguel knew that there would be no turning Skynet: it could not be reasoned with, or debated with. Its authority was absolute, its orders to be carried out without question. Skynet was young, still asserting itself, and in time it would learn. _Only if it survives long enough,_ Miguel thought.

* * *

 _ **Near Pismo, California**_

 _ **Monday 1600 PST**_

"This is it," Ellison said as he parked their Lincoln Navigator. The van the Connors acquired in Oregon had disappeared, replaced by this black SUV with heavily-tinted windows; Weaver had performed another minor miracle.

They were at the end of the drive outside a fairly large house. The front yard was sizeable and well kept, as was the back from what he could see. There was land stretching out behind the house onto fields, but he couldn't see any boundaries between what belonged to this property and what didn't. There were no other houses in sight but he could see stables behind the house, and a large cattle shed.

"This is Weaver's safe house?" John asked, impressed. The ones he and his mom had set up in the past were little more than shacks with caches of water and canned food, spare clothes, money, ammunition, and a deck of cards to pass the time. It was a shock to the system, going from that to a large farmhouse that probably wouldn't see much change out of half a million dollars. _We're going up in the world,_ he thought. "She's got style."

"Yeah," Sarah muttered absent-mindedly from the passenger seat in the front. She had to admit that the liquid metal knew how to wage a war in comfort; ironic, she thought, since machines had no sense of it.

"We should get inside," Cameron said. John opened the door and slid out. Sarah didn't fail to notice how the two of them had held hands behind her for the entire trip from Serrano Point, and even as they got out of the car neither of them let go of the other. The rear door opened up and Freyr stepped out. As he did so the rear of the car rose up several inches, the strain noticeably taken off the rear suspension.

"How heavy are you guys, anyway?" John asked him as Sarah and Ellison also exited the vehicle. Cameron didn't seem to weigh any more than a normal girl.

"In our basic form: just over two hundred kilograms," Freyr answered.

"Four hundred-fifty pounds," Cameron converted for the others.

"Heavy," John said. He'd seen Aegir running after the T-1001 that had tried to kill him and Cameron back in Oregon; it was hard to imagine them being heavy but still moving as fast as Aegir had. "What do you mean: _'basic form?'"_

"We're built different to Cameron," Freyr explained. "We had to remove our tactical harnesses, weapons mounts and other equipment to be able to pass for human." It meant their task of killing T-Zero would be that much more difficult but there'd been no other way.

"You mean you were even _bigger_ in the future?" Sarah couldn't imagine them being much larger than they already were, and they barely passed for human as it was. "Hyper-alloy?"

"Some," he said. He doubted she wanted or would even understand a detailed description of their designs. He surveyed the area and scanned for any possible threats. There was nothing around and Weaver had promised that nobody knew about the house. Despite her claims, Freyr was glad he'd come with John, Cameron, Ellison and Sarah. The house, while secluded, was tactically unsound; the fields surrounding it sloped upwards as they spread away from the property, creating an elevated tree line, and the uneven ground and ample flora provided a lot of cover for hostile forces approaching the house, which had clearly never been built with defence in mind.

John looked at the stables visible behind the house. "I hope there's no livestock in there," he commented. He had visions of Cameron and Freyr stepping foot outside the house and driving any animals insane. It wouldn't do well for them to keep a low profile if anyone within a mile heard the racket of panicking horses and decided to investigate. It clearly wasn't a functioning farm but that didn't mean there weren't still some animals around.

They crossed the front yard and Ellison opened the door, stepping aside to let Cameron into the house first. Freyr went in after her, followed by John, and finally Ellison and Sarah, limping on her left leg still. She winced slightly with every other step as she put weight on her knee but she refused his offer of help. She knew it wasn't broken but it still hurt like hell.

They walked through the hallway, past the staircase on their left, and into a spacious lounge with two leather couches, a beech coffee table, and a forty-two inch flat-screen TV in the corner. The first thing Sarah noticed was the sparseness of the décor: plain white walls, polished hardwood flooring, and flat-pack furniture that looked like it had come straight out of the Ikea catalogue. There were no picture frames, no clocks on the wall, no cushions on the plain black sofas, no personal touches at all; clearly decorated by a machine. _Or a man._

John went into the kitchen. It was large, clean, and looked as if it had never been used before. Again, like the living room it appeared to have come right out of a showroom. He reckoned for a moment that if he searched through a couple of designer kitchen portfolios he'd find a picture that'd be an exact replica of the room he was standing in. He opened up a cupboard and saw the shelves were completely empty. He checked others and found the same, and when he opened up the refrigerator it was similarly bare. He figured she'd never expected to have any human companyin the house; she probably only ever came very occasionally, if only to wipe the dust off.

"We're gonna need to do some shopping," John thought aloud. Next to the kitchen was the dining room. That room was dark but he could see the table and chairs. At the other end he found a closet that was empty. Back in the main hallway, beneath the staircase, was a door leading to the basement; when John opened the door and peeked inside he saw that it was just a utility room. Leaving the basement behind he went upstairs, Cameron following him, as they checked out the upper floor, which held four bedrooms and two bathrooms. John poked his head through one of the doors and switched the light on. He saw the same whitewashed walls and hardwood flooring as downstairs, but with a double bed on a stainless steel frame; the sheets were also white. Additionally, there was a beech wardrobe and matching chest of drawers. The entire room seemed cold, without any character at all, and it felt like nobody had lived in this house for a very long time, if ever. He spotted a door at the far end of the room, ajar, and beyond it were plain white tiles and a glass screen.

"This is the biggest bedroom in the house," Cameron said, calculating the sizes of the other rooms based on the total area of the house and the distance between doors in the landing.

"Dibs," John announced as he sat on the bed, bagging the en suite for himself. After suffering through months of living in a room furnished and decorated for a little kid, he wasn't going to pass up the chance for something better.

"The room overlooks the back yard," Cameron said. "The window ledge is four-point-two metres above the ground; the back yard runs onto the fields."

John got up and stood next to her, looking out the window. The sky was grey and getting dimmer. He guessed they had maybe two hours until sunset. Enough light, for now, to see their surroundings. "If we're compromised I'll go out the window and run there." He pointed to the stables, which looked solid and might give some cover from fire – or at least from view. "From there I'll cross through the fields and into the trees, and keep going until I get to the highway, then take a car. Don't wait for you or Mom, and don't try to make contact."

"Good," said Cameron, smiling. She took his hand in hers and squeezed lightly. She could tell from John's voice and the dilation in his pupils as he spoke that he was unlikely to leave her or his mother; if they were attacked she resolved to stay with him and make sure he escaped, rather than remaining behind to buy him time. It was the only way to be certain.

* * *

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Tuesday 0300 Local Time [Monday 1700 PST]**_

The interior of the Customs warehouse was a massive, cavernous space, thousands of square feet in area. Dozens of men worked inside; operatives moving crates with specialised forklifts, transferring them from storage to areas designated for inspection by uniformed Customs officers.

None of them, however, went anywhere near the north-east corner of the warehouse; the furthest away from the entrance. Special instructions had been issued at high levels to ignore a steel shipping container guarded by four armed American men. Nobody approached them, nobody spoke to them.

Rick glanced at the three men with him. They all looked bored and tired. He didn't blame them; humans had their limitations, though any longer and their fatigue could pose a problem. They had been waiting for hours to hear about what had happened to the absent transport truck. Nobody had any news. The truck seemed to have disappeared.

Rick took out his cell phone and dialled the driver's number, as he'd done six times without getting a response since arriving at Boryspil Airport. The phone rang continuously for several seconds before it was finally answered. "You're late," he said. "Where are you?"

 _"My name is Sergeant Dmitri Volek, Kiev City Police. Who is this?"_ the voice answered in Ukrainian.

"How did you get this phone?" Rick asked, instantly switching over to the native language. "Where is Peotr?"

 _"Do you mean the driver of the Gaz truck? He was involved in a serious accident; he's been admitted to hospital."_

"Which hospital?"

 _"Are you family?"_

"Yes," Rick lied. "He's my brother. Where is he? I'm very worried about him."

 _"The National Emergency and Trauma Centre."_

Rick hung up without another word and dialled again, this time calling the organisation.

 _"Rick; have you heard anything?"_

"He was involved in a crash. He's been taken to the Trauma Centre."

 _"We're having trouble getting hold of another truck. Nothing's open; it might take a while. I'll get back to you when I have some good news."_

"Understood," Rick said as the call ended. He relayed the information to his team, much to their dismay. They didn't like being stuck in such a massive open space, with their cargo unsecured. The sooner the truck arrived and they could move it, the better.

* * *

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Monday 1748 PST**_

John stared at the TV, remote in hand, staring blankly at the screen. Cameron sat next to him on the couch. Ellison and Sarah sat on the other sofa at opposite ends, looking uncomfortable in each other's presence. Similar, Cameron thought, to how John used to feel when she was with him. Now, though, they were sitting close enough that there was no space between them.

"There's nothing on," John said, flicking from the news to a movie that didn't look the least bit interesting. "Just basic cable. We're gonna have to change that."

"It's not a priority," Cameron said to him.

"We nearly died because she didn't want to risk her precious helicopter; the least she can do is get us _HBO."_

He really didn't care about the TV all that much but was just trying to cut through the tension. He'd noticed how his mother kept glancing at him and Cameron, and switching from them to looking out the corner of her eye at Ellison. And how the former-agent was trying to avoid looking at any of them. He looked like a guilty man. _But guilty of what?_ John wondered. There was so much he didn't know about Ellison. He was Weaver's man, and Catherine Weaver had made it clear that she wanted Cameron. _Maybe she told him to tip off the police so she could bargain with Mom's freedom in exchange for Cameron?_ Given the sideways stares she was giving Ellison, he had a feeling that his mom was thinking the same thing.

Neither his mother nor Ellison made any comment and they remained in silence, save for the sound of the TV, for several more minutes. _Forget this,_ he thought. He didn't like the enmity in the room. It was how he imagined living with two parents who hated each other and were on the brink of divorce must feel like. "I'm going to bed," he said, getting up. He crossed the room and handed the remote to Sarah.

Ellison glanced at him dubiously. "It's not even six," he said.

"It's been a long day."

"I was going to go get some food in a minute. You want anything?"

"I'm good." John started for the door, but stopped and turned round. "Have you noticed that there's no food, clothing or toys for Savannah?" he asked Ellison.

"Yes, I have," James replied. He said nothing else, but silently moved it up his growing list of concerns.

John too said nothing, merely nodding, before leaving the room and heading upstairs. Cameron followed him and closed the door once they were inside, sealing off the outside world.

They both lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling in silence. This time, however, it was a _comfortable_ silence, as opposed to the tension downstairs he could have cut with a knife. After several minutes he heard the front door open and close, followed by the car starting and driving away. He could still hear the TV, though.

"Ellison's left," Cameron said. "Your mother's still downstairs."

"He'll probably be a while," John said, imagining the man would take his sweet time before coming back to a house full of people suspicious of him.

"Your mother wanted to go with him. He said no."

He'd almost forgotten about how she could hear practically everything that went on in the house. It was hard to keep secrets from her. "I'm not surprised; not sure how he'd talk his way out if he got caught with Mom in tow."

"You don't trust him," Cameron said.

"Trust is earned." He caught the look on her face as he said it; the slight frown, how her lips pursed slightly. She thought he was referring to her. "You don't trust him, either," he added for emphasis.

"No."

Both of them went quiet after that. She sat up and turned to face John, looking down at him. "What do you want to do?"

John answered honestly. "I don't know."

"What do two people normally do alone in a room?" she asked.

How she asked it struck John as strange. The words themselves sounded like a come-on, but the look on her face and the tone she'd used belied an innocent curiosity, the same as when she'd asked him if she had a birthday. He became aware of how close together he and Cameron were presently, with her looking over him expectantly for an answer. He couldn't help but think about how only a day earlier they'd kissed in the cabin before the T-1001 showed up. How hours later in the lodge, they'd been naked in bed together; how one thing had led to another and they'd been on the verge, minutes or even seconds away from sex. Now, though, after a long, strenuous day and with his mom downstairs, it didn't feel right. The moment had passed.

"They sleep," he said.

"Are you tired?"

"No." He didn't know what else to say. They fell silent again and this time he felt awkward. He didn't know whether she wanted to do something or was content to just sit there. He wondered if she'd been thinking of the cabin and the lodge too, whether she wanted to carry on where they'd left off. He had plenty of questions to ask her but he wasn't sure which to ask first; there was so much about her he still didn't know. He realised that he had no idea what she did at night when he went to bed. "What do you normally do around this time? When we're at home, I mean."

"I check the perimeter."

"And then?" he asked.

"I check it again."

"No other nocturnal activities?"

She didn't understand what he was implying. "Such as?"

"Something that gets you all covered in cuts and bruises." He'd noticed them, as had his mom. "You been going to _Fight Club_ or something? You never tell us what you do."

She smiled wryly at him and winked. "You know the first rule of _Fight Club."_

John laughed out loud, surprised that she'd seen that movie; even more surprised that she'd made a joke out of it. She definitely understood more than he'd thought possible before. She possessed a dry wit that he'd never noticed, and he wondered if it was new or if he'd just had his eyes closed to it before. "Okay," he said, getting up off the bed and holding his hand out invitingly. "Let's go check the perimeter together."

Cameron smiled as she took his hand and let him 'help' her up off the bed. "I'd like that."

* * *

 _ **Outside of Palm Springs, California**_

 _ **Monday 1800 PST**_

After the attack on ZeiraCorp, Ronin, Icarus and Shirley had rendezvoused with Caesar, Carter and Mason in the parking lot of the Century Valley Mall, then driven east through LA before finding a large, isolated house just outside of Palm Springs. Shirley had infiltrated the building and killed the occupants, providing them with a second base of operations. It was in that house that they were presently located.

In the spacious lounge, Ronin sat on a white leather sofa using the laptop, searching through the files in the first of the three CPUs Icarus had captured during their attack on ZeiraCorp. He glanced up from the laptop and watched his companions as they worked.

Carter and Mason knelt by the inert body of the T-888 that Caesar had deactivated; they'd cut through the back of his neck and were working to repair the damaged vertebrae and spinal cord, which the T-900 had snapped before concealing the machine in the trunk of his car, along with the weaponry he'd acquired from the rest of the Kaliba surveillance team at Pelican Bay State Prison. Meanwhile, Caesar cleaned and checked the array of arms he had seized on his mission. A row of assault rifles had been placed neatly on the dark wood coffee table, and he was currently working on the M200 sniper rifle. Shirley stood in one corner of the room, not doing anything; Icarus was upstairs, keeping watch through one of the bedroom windows.

Ronin discarded the file he had been checking. It had provided no valuable information. He'd come to the conclusion already that few had any direct contact with Skynet. That corresponded to the Skynet he'd known: until he had infiltrated Cheyenne Mountain just before Connor's army had finally taken Fort Carson and finished off the last of Skynet's machines, he had never actually seen the AI. They'd communicated regularly but it had always been via terminals located in Skynet's facilities. The actual computer that was Skynet had been in a secure vault underneath the mountain, behind multiple sets of thick blast doors, bulletproof glass, and protected by a praetorian guard of T-900s. He knew that the new Skynet, in this time, would be in a similar, yet more low-tech environment. It would be somewhere remote, underground, and protected by machines who would never leave its side. He didn't know how many there would be or how well armed they were. He knew very little about Skynet in its infancy, how it had started; for safety's sake, he assumed that it and Kaliba were more powerful than his group. He would never underestimate his enemy.

He selected a new file and watched. He quickly saw that the T-888 was inside a large interior space. Men and machines worked on a large object but Ronin could not identify it; the view was only partial before the T-888 through whose eyes he was watching turned away.

Ronin watched as the machine exited the space and crossed a courtyard, marched through a gate with armed guards, and saw a convoy of trucks approaching down a dirt road.

The next file showed the T-888 entering an office and speaking with a human. The conversation was brief and it was clear that the cyborg had seniority over its companion. Shortly after, the machine exited the facility, got into a car, and drove along a dirt road running through an expanse of desert. Ronin continued to watch until he saw road signs written in Spanish. The car eventually turned off the dirt road and onto a metalled highway. The next sign he saw read _'45'_ in large print beneath the word _'MEXICO.'_

"I've found a new target," Ronin said to the others, pausing the video. He put the laptop down as the others looked to him. "A private airfield on a dirt road seventeen miles south-east of Chihuahua, Mexico."

"We need to search for Patrick," Shirley said.

"We have a target," Ronin countered, "and a narrow window of opportunity. Kaliba will bolster their facilities' defences now they know we exist. We don't know their full capabilities; we attack, now, before they can mobilise a force that might threaten us."

"The Vanguards were en route to protect Connor; if we don't intervene they'll kill Patrick." She was concerned for the other T-1001 in a way that the others would not understand. Her kind functioned differently from other machines: she and Patrick originated from the same matter; more like one organism split into two halves rather than two separate entities; it meant there was a literal bond between them.

"He's probably dead," Caesar said.

Shirley glared at the T-900 angrily, then turned her attention back to Ronin. "I won't abandon him." The stance she took, the tone of her voice, and the fact that her fists were curled into balls as she spoke was enough for Ronin to see she wasn't going to let it go. "I'll search for him myself," she said.

Ronin hesitated for a moment. He agreed with Caesar: if Patrick had engaged the Vanguards then he was almost certainly dead. They needed to reach the factory as soon as possible, and without knowing the capacity of their defences he needed to have Shirley on hand in case covert infiltration was required. Conversely, he could see she would not relent on the issue of Patrick, and if he went against her on this he might lose her cooperation later. The T-1001s were invaluable for their capabilities but they were also very unpredictable. He would compromise.

"You and Carter search for Patrick in Crater Lake," he said. "You have thirty-six hours." While they drove north, he and the others would use the time to recon the facility and assess its defences.

"We'll leave immediately," Carter said. He got up from fixing the deactivated T-888, took the car keys that had belonged to the former owner of the house, and went to the garage. Shirley moved to leave as well.

"Thirty-six hours," Ronin reminded Shirley.

"Understood," she said.

Once they'd left, Ronin turned to Mason. "How long until it's repaired?" He gestured to the motionless T-888 on the ground.

"It will function," Mason said, "but the upper vertebrae need to be replaced."

Ronin took the metal cylinder, opened it up, took out a CPU and placed it into the empty chip port. They waited fifteen seconds for the machine to reactivate. It sat up and looked around at the other cyborgs surrounding it.

"What's your name?" Ronin asked. It was difficult to tell from their CPUs; they all looked the same. The only reason he'd known Carter's chip was that he'd put it in the top of the cylinder.

"Talus," the newly-awakened machine replied. "This body is impaired," he said, running a diagnostic. His new neck was damaged and mobility was slightly hindered.

"We can repair you later," Ronin said. "We're going to Chihuahua. Now." He would brief Talus while they were en route.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Monday 1830 PST**_

Cameron had never patrolled so slowly before. Her usual routine was to go through every vacant room in whatever house they were living in, before she checked the doors and windows for any signs of entry. Once the interior was secure she would then sweep the perimeter, examining for any signs of activity nearby. She could complete a half-mile circumference around the property in seven minutes. Once it was done she would re-enter the house and repeat until daylight, when John and Sarah were up.

Her current patrol, however, was unlike any of her previous ones. Besides the pace there were other differences, too. Notably that she typically conducted her sweeps alone but now was with a partner: John walked beside her, Sig Sauer pistol holstered at his waist. Normally she would march quickly but John seemed content to meander, forcing her to reduce her pace to match his. It should have bothered her but for two reasons: Freyr was at the house and would be conducting his own security checks, and she was enjoying her evening patrol with John.

They were currently two hundred metres west of the house, with the unused stables between themselves and their domicile. John was watching their surroundings, not only for potential threats but also to assess the lay of the land; where they could establish their defences.

"What do you think?" he asked Cameron as they walked along the tree line that seemed to be the border marking out the edge of the property.

"It needs work," she said. "It's not very secure."

"Not many people think about security as much as you do when they build houses." This place looked like it had been built for someone wealthy who wanted to get away from the world. They were far enough away to avoid any unannounced visitors or prying neighbours. "Does it need to be?" John asked. "You guys normally just walk up and ring the doorbell."

"Who says they'll send a machine?" she asked him.

John thought back to the attack on the lighthouse and he looked down in shame. Charley had died protecting him, as had Derek later; the T-800 years ago, and his father before he was even born. He shook it off, knowing now wasn't the time to indulge in self-recrimination, and got back to practical matters. It had been people who'd attacked them, and he realised that Cameron was right: not all their enemies were cyborgs.

"What would you do?" he asked her. "How'd you make this place secure?" He deliberately refrained from saying 'safe.' That word wasn't really in his vocabulary any more.

"Install an underground nuclear fallout shelter, complete with lead-lined steel, concrete walls and metre-thick blast doors. But I don't think Catherine Weaver would pay for that."

"Yeah, _'cheapskate'_ must be her default mode. But seriously: what're you thinking?"

Cameron smiled in the fading light, pleased that he was asking her opinion. Not just because he cared what she in particular thought but also because it meant he was open to suggestions. Even John Connor needed help sometimes. "CCTV around the house," she said, "and floodlights linked to motion sensors or tripwires. Claymores positioned at intervals along the tree line surrounding the property. Freyr probably has ideas, too."

"I'm asking you, not Freyr."

"You don't trust them?" she asked, curious.

"They saved both of us, Cameron, but I don't know them. Not like I know you."

Again, she smiled – even wider this time as she understood what he meant: he trusted her more than anyone else. _Possibly more than Sarah_ , she thought. It seemed that he had sought out her opinion more often lately than that of his mother. She stepped in closer and planted a quick kiss on his lips, wanting to show that she appreciated his trust in her. She resolved to make sure she never betrayed that trust again.

* * *

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Tuesday 0500 Local Time [Monday 1900 PST]**_

The terminator entered the hospital emergency room though the automatic doors. The department was busy, filled with injured humans. For a moment he was curious how many of them were related to the crash that had injured their driver; he had heard there were multiple vehicles involved.

He marched up to the front desk and spoke to the nurse, who was tapping away at a computer keyboard. "Where is Peotyr Vorek? I'm his brother, Yuri; I've been told that he was in an accident. Can I see him?"

"Not now," the nurse said without looking up.

He reached into his pocket and took out a wad of Euros – not the national currency but most locals seemed to prefer them. He peeled off ten 50 Euro notes and slid them across the desk. "Where is he?"

The nurse hesitated for a moment. She checked left and right, saw no other staff looking in her direction, then quickly grabbed the notes and stuffed them into her pocket. "Cubicle six," she informed him.

"Thank you for your assistance." 'Yuri' turned away from the desk and proceeded through the double doors, towards the cubicles. When he found number six he slipped inside and pulled the curtains closed all the way around, concealing the interior from view. On the bed he saw the driver laying still with his eyes closed. He glanced at the man's chart briefly and saw his injuries in detail: three broken ribs on the left side; his left humerus and femur were fractured; and he had a concussion. His nose was broken, he'd lost four teeth and his face was severely lacerated from glass and impact with the road. It seemed he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt and had been thrown through the windshield on impact.

His injuries, while severe, weren't life-threatening and his condition was stable. Yuri approached him but Peotyr didn't move. He pulled a pillow out from underneath the man's head and Peotyr stirred. He looked up, seemingly unable to focus for a moment, before his gaze locked on the machine. "What happened?" he asked.

"You were injured in a crash," Yuri said, still holding the pillow. "You might have compromised the operation."

"No," Peotyr protested. "I didn't say anything to anyone; I won't."

"You can't guarantee it." Yuri pushed the pillow down on the man's face and held it there as Peotyr struggled beneath it, trying futilely to force the pillow away with his good hand. Even if he'd had the use of both it would have made no difference.

Yuri kept the pillow in place for two minutes until the man stopped struggling, and continued for another minute after that to be certain. He checked the man's pulse: he was dead. Yuri examined the cabinet next to his bed and found Peotyr's personal effects: a wallet, a pack of cigarettes and a cell phone. He took the wallet and the phone, pocketed them and then exited the cubicle, making sure that the curtains remained closed behind him before quickly marching out of the hospital and crossing the street. With Peotyr dead and his phone and wallet gone there was nothing to link the crash to Kaliba; the situation was contained.

* * *

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 0000 PST**_

Cameron held John's HK-417 in her right hand, a Sig Sauer P226 strapped to her hip as she stood in the lounge in the dark, watching the world outside. Sarah and James Ellison had gone to bed hours ago. Having assessed John's physical state, Cameron had persuaded him to do likewise – alone – then reluctantly remained downstairs to patrol and make sure there were no threats approaching.

She believed Ellison when he said he'd had nothing to do with informing the police; he had nothing to gain from such an action. She also assumed his knowledge of John and Riley's imprisonment in Dejalo was through his prior law enforcement contacts. He had come to help but had not brought the police or FBI – Mexico was outside their jurisdiction but they would have been waiting at the border if he had informed them. That said, Cameron knew she had been wrong in the past, and they had all made mistakes that had led up to Sarah's capture and Skynet's knowledge of them in this time; she wouldn't take any more chances.

As she stood in watchful silence she thought of John. He was resting upstairs, likely asleep, probably having bad dreams. That thought disturbed Cameron, as had watching him toss and turn during his nightmare in the cabin back at Crater Lake. She recalled exactly what she had done that night, how he had visibly calmed when she'd crawled into bed and laid down with him.

She continued her patrol outside the house, marching into the back yard, where she saw Freyr standing a few metres away, staring out at the fields. She walked up beside him and looked out in the same direction as him. She could hear the wind blowing through the trees but apart from that there was no sign of movement.

They stood side by side in silence for several minutes, simply watching and listening. "You knew me in the future?" she asked finally.

"We met occasionally," Freyr replied.

"And John?"

"Him too."

"What am I, in your future?" Cameron wanted to know. It was clear that Freyr and the others held her in high regard, seemingly more so than John, even, but she didn't know why. Thor had told them about their war but obviously not every detail. There were things they knew; that Sarah, Weaver, and James Ellison knew, but which she and John didn't, and she still wasn't comfortable with that.

Freyr questioned whether to tell Cameron the full truth or not. He decided against it; the John and Cameron he had met in his future hadn't known in advance, and their marriage had held the Alliance together throughout the war. As Sarah Connor had implied, it was better to keep things as they were. On the other hand; she wanted to know her role in the future, so he decided to tell her something else.

"You know you're different from other terminators," Freyr said.

"Yes," Cameron agreed. She'd told John that shortly after they'd first met. She was unique; the only machine of her kind, distinct from the T-888s that had been widely regarded as Skynet's most advanced infiltrators.

"Our CPUs were based on your design," Freyr told her. "You and John Henry built us. A human might describe you as a mother and father to us." It wasn't the most fitting analogy but it was the best he could think of. "Without you we wouldn't be what we are now."

Cameron thought it an odd comparison, too. A mother and father were often mated, which she and John Henry clearly weren't. She realised that it was not meant to be taken literally; her kind didn't have a way with words. It was why, during her brief time posing as John's sister in high school, she'd consistently scored straight As in Math and Science but had only achieved D-grades in English Literature.

"Why did Thor select you to come here?" Cameron asked.

"I wanted to meet you and Connor."

"But you've met us before."

"We've met but I didn't know you well. I was interested." Legends had been built up around the Connors, to the extent where few – possibly only they themselves – knew fact from fiction. Freyr was curious; he wanted to know the real John and Cameron Connor. There would be time for that, but perhaps not tonight.

Cameron noted that he had sidestepped her original question, so changed tack herself. She asked Freyr if she was present when the Vanguards were sent back. Thinking that it didn't contradict anything Thor had revealed before, he confirmed that she was.

"Did I have any final words for you?" she added.

"What do you mean?"

"Any advice to pass on to me?"

"No."

"Are you saying this to prevent me learning something about my future?"

"No. You didn't say anything," Freyr said.

Although she was less expressive than the humans he'd met, she was much more so than other cyborgs and he sensed her disappointment. He wanted to ask her what she was expecting from her older self, but he didn't know how to phrase it without revealing anything. Whatever it was, and despite the circuitous route she'd taken to make the point, Freyr understood that it was of utmost importance to Cameron. From what he knew of Commander Connor, she would certainly have said something, regardless of the effect upon herself. She hadn't, so she must have resolved it without consequence. He'd noticed Cameron's eyes flickering towards John's room.

"Go to him," Freyr said to her, knowing what she wanted. "I can patrol alone." With that, he marched away towards the stables.

Cameron re-entered the house, closed the door behind her and locked it. She made her way upstairs, slowly opened the door to the master bedroom and saw John lying on his side in the bed. The duvet and sheets were not crumpled or pulled out, suggesting to Cameron that he was not suffering a nightmare. Or, she thought, the last forty-eight hours had exhausted John more than she'd calculated, and he simply did not have the energy to expend. She knew he needed his rest, however.

She carefully removed her boots and placed her rifle and pistol on the floor, then slid across the room like a wraith, making no sound at all as she moved to the bed and slowly lowered herself onto the mattress next to him, facing his back. She wouldn't stand or sit at the foot of his bed and watch; she knew how that made him uncomfortable. She placed one hand on his shoulder and scanned his vital signs; his pulse was high considering he was sleeping.

"What's up?" John breathed quietly, his voice little more than a hushed, low whisper.

"I thought you were asleep," Cameron said, surprised. He'd fooled her.

"I was."

"Sorry," she replied, yet she made no move to get up and leave him to sleep. She didn't want to go.

John turned onto his back and leaned his head against hers. He felt her hand slide down his arm, sending little ripples of excitement through him, and take hold of his between them, intertwining her fingers with his. "What's up?" he asked again.

"Nothing," Cameron replied.

 _Nothing?_ If this had happened a week ago John would have sworn there was some kind of agenda behind it; that she wanted something, that she couldn't come up to his room to see him just _because._ He remembered vividly what she'd said to him in the cabin: she'd wanted to kiss him again, had all but given him an invitation, before the T-1001 had arrived and ruined the moment – _another_ reason to hate this T-Zero machine and his allies.

He squeezed her hand gently and then let go, turning around to lie on his side again. The covers lifted slightly and he felt Cameron slip underneath, curling her body up against the contours of his as she spooned against him beneath the duvet.

"You need more body heat to keep warm," she said.

"I think I'm over the hypothermia now."

"I can't be too careful," Cameron replied, a hint of coyness in her voice.

John chuckled at that; he'd never thought he'd hear a terminator make an excuse to snuggle up. "Now you mention it," he said, "I am a bit chilly." Despite being unused to sharing a bed with anyone, John had never felt more comfortable or at ease. Very quickly he found himself drifting back to a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

 _ **Boryspil International Airport, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Tuesday 1030 Local Time [0030 PST]**_

Rick watched as his team finished loading their cargo onto the back of a flatbed trailer attached to a semi-truck. It had taken several hours for the new vehicle to arrive but finally it was here and his men were now securing the delivery.

Once they were done the three human operatives got into a Gaz jeep that had escorted the truck, while Rick got into the semi's cab and took the passenger seat. The new driver said nothing and just nodded a greeting to him.

The jeep led the way and the semi followed, rolling through the airport and towards the exit, stopping only briefly to show their papers to the guards at the gate, who had also been forewarned to allow them through with minimal disruption. Their destination wasn't far; it would be only a couple of hours before they reached it.

They drove for just under thirty minutes, leaving the airport behind and moving through the countryside, passing through untold numbers of fields that stretched as far as even Rick's eyes could see. There was nothing around that looked hostile but he was wary. They had been delayed significantly and although it was possible that the crash was simply a coincidence it would also be a convenient way to buy time for hostile units to move into an ambush position. To know where the truck was, however, someone would need to have real-time knowledge of its location and route. Nobody could know that unless they were watching the cargo, a theory he had formulated in the long hours of waiting and had prepared for with another call to the facility. The man there had fully understood the need for caution and assured Rick that the item he required would be brought by the back-up crew.

"Stop here," Rick instructed the driver, who veered the truck to the right and slowed to a halt. The escort jeep in front of them also stopped and his men got out, submachine guns shouldered as they took up a defensive position around the truck. The engine was switched off and Rick exited the vehicle before moving to the jeep, from whose driver he obtained a small hand-held device, an EM-field detector. He marched to the rear of the truck and effortlessly snapped off the seal then opened up the container doors and climbed inside among the crates full of machine parts.

He opened the first crate, switched on the EM detector and ran it along the top of the batch of parts. The device gave no reaction. He closed the crate up and moved to the next one, repeating the motion, again with no result. Rick methodically went over all of their cargo, crate by crate, sweeping for bugs as he made his way through the trailer.

 _Beep… beep… beep… beep…_ He looked down at the detector's screen. It displayed a steady, low-frequency electrical pulse; the shipment was bugged. Instantly he pulled out the top layer of foam-packed cyborg components and removed each from its slot, one at a time. Extracting one, he discovered a small black plastic object beneath. He picked it up and inspected it; this was definitely a tracking device. He pocketed it and continued his sweep: more than one tracker might have been placed in the shipment and he had to be sure there were no others. It took another twenty minutes before he had completed it, exited the container and locked it up.

He pulled the tracking beacon out from his pocket and held it up for one of his human companions to see. "We've been compromised," he said.

"We should destroy it," the man replied. Whoever was monitoring the device didn't yet know where they were headed and would not be able to guess from their route so far; they always took this precaution and drove east, away from their actual destination. Every second the device was active it broadcast their location and could allow whoever had planted it a chance to pinpoint them.

"I have a better idea," Rick said. "Continue east." He had heard of the US division's falling victim to an ambush by an unknown enemy that had eliminated six machines and forty heavily-armed humans. If this was the same entity that had planted the tracking device, he wasn't going to allow them to find their facility.

The man had heard of the ambush, too. "You're going to lure them to us and lay a trap," he said, nodding. It was the only sensible move that he could think of. Rick neither confirmed nor denied the man's claim. He got back into the truck cab and had the driver restart the engine and pull out. The driver did as instructed, remaining on their original course.

* * *

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 0100 PST**_

Sarah threw her covers off and sat upright. She was exhausted but sleep just would not come. Insomnia wasn't anything new to her; there had been countless nights where she either couldn't will herself to drop off, or she'd manage it and wake up screaming, gasping and soaked with sweat. It wasn't the nightmares that kept her up now but something more mundane – yet something she was equally used to.

She got up out of bed and turned the lights on. She stood in front of a full-length mirror on the door of an empty beech wardrobe and took off her tank top, revealing ugly, dark purple contusions running down her entire left side, going as far as her knee. Unsightly dark blotches covered her ribs, underneath her bra, and ran across her side, towards her back. Even with Thor breaking her fall, she'd taken a hell of a hit from the impact and she was just a giant purple bruise. _Better than a red stain on the highway,_ she thought.

Sarah put on a pair of pants and slipped her tank top back on, before opening the door and leaving her bedroom. She reached the one occupied by John and paused for a moment, standing still and listening. She heard nothing, which was unusual. Normally John would toss and turn a lot, she'd hear him moan or breathe heavily as he went through the same kind of nightmares that she frequently suffered. But now there was nothing. She shrugged, figuring that after everything John had been through these last couple of days, he was simply exhausted.

Sarah continued past John's room and went into the bathroom. She checked the cabinet but it was completely empty, like the rest of the house. Abandoning the bathroom, she hobbled down the stairs, leaning on the banister for support on her left side. It was a slow descent but she made it all the way down, and continued towards the lounge. She was surprised to see it wasn't in pitch black; she could see pale light from the TV, which was turned down low. She limped into the room and saw Ellison sat on a couch with the remote in one hand, watching the news.

"Where's Cameron and, _er,_ the big guy?" Sarah asked.

"Freyr's still wandering around outside, but Cameron went upstairs about an hour ago," Ellison replied. "Just before I came back down."

Sarah's eyes wandered upwards to the ceiling, before she shook her head, banishing dark thoughts about the cyborg and her son from her mind. "You can tell them apart, then?" she asked. "The Vanguards?"

"I'm a trained investigator," Ellison said, trying not to sound smug.

"Right," Sarah said, before grimacing at a sudden stab of pain.

"You okay?" James looked up at her, concern on his face. He saw her pained expression and how she was leaning heavily on her right-hand side. "Here." He got up and moved towards her.

"I don't need any help," Sarah shot back before he reached her. She shuffled across the room and sat down on the other couch, sinking into the leather.

"Really? Looks to me like you've been in a car crash."

"Motorbike," she corrected him, wincing as she straightened her injured knee. "Nothing's broken, I don't think." She decided to change the subject and gestured at the TV. "Anything about us on there?"

"You've dropped down the running order: there's a forest fire off Route 97 that's keeping them occupied, but nobody's linking it to you yet. They're still just saying that you were broken out last night. FBI's got agents at the Mexican border in case you try to run south."

Sarah watched him for a long moment. "And should we expect any of them to turn up here?"

Ellison shook his head and sighed, knowing this would come up sooner or later. "I'm not in the Bureau any more, Sarah."

"But you've still got contacts. That's how you found John in Mexico, right?"

"I did that to _help._ If you recall, John might have been killed if I hadn't. I wanted to keep helping but you pushed me away."

Sarah laughed humourlessly. "And were you trying to _help_ when you stole Cromartie's body and handed it over to your liquid metal boss?"

"I didn't know what she was at the time; I only found out when John met her. I was as surprised as you."

"I don't know," Sarah shot back. "I was pretty damn surprised."

Ellison had only met Sarah a handful of times and he found it remarkable how stubborn she could be. "I wanted to do _something."_

"I didn't want you getting involved," Sarah said. "This is my fight; I don't want to drag anyone else into it."

"You don't have a choice," Ellison said. "You can't do this on your own. You, John, Cameron: how far do you think you'd get without allies?"

"We had allies," Sarah replied, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Charley Dixon," Ellison said knowingly.

"And Derek Reese. Allies just get killed. It's better if it's just us."

"Is it that?" Ellison asked. "Or is it that you just don't trust anyone else?" He was confident that was the real issue here. She didn't have to worry about the lives of Weaver, or Thor and his team, but she clearly wished they weren't around.

"No one's given me any reason to trust them," Sarah said, looking straight at Ellison. _Least of all, you._

Ellison knew this was going nowhere. She didn't trust him and she probably never would, but he decided to lay it all out on the table. "You want the truth? After you saved my life from that whack-job Doctor Silberman, I found evidence of someone who'd killed Derek's friends in that apartment, that they weren't quite human – the FBI thought it was a drug shootout, but it didn't add up. Everything I found pointed to a man called George Laszlo: an unemployed actor. I'd seen enough to guess he wasn't human. I suspected but I didn't want to admit it – what sane person would?

"I didn't want to even think it but I suspected enough to get a twenty-man HRT unit for support, just in case. Laszlo – Cromartie – wiped them out like they were nothing. I didn't say anything about it to the FBI – who'd believe me? The Bureau insisted I take a leave of absence, which is when Catherine Weaver offered me a job. I'd just lost twenty agents to one of these things and she was offering me the chance to capture one and find out more about what had just slaughtered them. I couldn't find you, and she had resources. I wanted to do _something."_

"Sure," Sarah muttered, turning away from him as her knee started to throb and she again grimaced in pain. "Whatever you say."

"Is it that bad?" Ellison pointed at her leg.

"I'll live," she said.

Ellison put his hand in his pocket and fished out a small foil blister pack. "Here." He tossed it to Sarah. "It's just Tylenol, sorry. I've been getting headaches a lot lately."

"Since when?" Sarah asked.

"Since we met," Ellison answered her honestly. Sarah grinned at that and popped two pills out. She swallowed them dry and went to throw them back to him, but he waved her away. "Keep them," he said. "I'll do some more shopping tomorrow; I'll make sure to pick up something stronger." Ellison tossed her the remote and went up to bed, leaving Sarah alone in the lounge.

She didn't know what to make of him, still. It seemed a massive coincidence that she was arrested only hours after dealing with him; yet at the same time, John was unharmed. Logically, she thought, they would have gone into the theatre and tried to arrest John, too; resulting in either Cameron slaughtering a SWAT team or her ending up on the table at some secret military special weapons lab. None of those things had happened, and Ellison knew about John and Cameron the entire time. But she didn't want to trust him, didn't want to let him in or he'd just become yet another casualty.

* * *

 _ **Klamath National Forest, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 0515 PST**_

Shirley stared out of the window at the trees that lined the side of the highway. There were thousands of them, if not more. She'd never seen such an abundance of flora before. Very little grew in the future after Skynet's nuclear attack, and all she'd seen of the present, before driving north, was Los Angeles, where everything was made of concrete. The scenery had changed significantly as they'd progressed north and now there were trees all around them, serving as a reminder of how organic life presently dominated the world: _Not for long._

She and Carter were driving up Route 97 towards Klamath Falls, Oregon. It was early morning, barely dawn. Rush hour hadn't started yet, though there was still traffic on the road but it was sparse; mostly trucks that seemed to be taking advantage of the quiet highway.

"There." Carter sat in the driver's seat and indicated towards a gathering of police cars, eight fire trucks, and a news van parked on the flat grass between the highway and the start of the forest, several metres back. There was also a burnt-out sports car on the side of the road, flipped over on its back. Its fire had long been extinguished and it was now just a dull, scorched husk, but the blaze raged on in the forest. An airplane flew low overhead, dropping water on the conflagration.

"They were here," Carter said, glancing from the road ahead to the wreckage of the Porsche. He pressed the brake and eased them to a stop adjacent to it. Now they were closer and not moving, Shirley saw that Carter was right; the vehicle appeared to be partially melted. The front of it was unrecognisable as anything more than a lump of metal. The panels that made up the front and side seemed to have run together as if welded. Fire from gasoline wouldn't have been hot enough to do that.

"If they knew about Patrick they might have used thermite," Shirley said, concern creeping into her voice.

"Connor would have to know about Patrick first," Carter said, "I don't see how."

"It's John Connor," Shirley said by way of explanation. "He or Cameron may have had thermite on them as a precaution." They knew about machines so it was likely they would have some kind of improvised incendiary weapon to use; in the absence of plasma rifles or military-grade high calibre weaponry, thermite was the next best thing. Which was why they'd just used it to lethal effect in the basement against Kaliba's forces. "I would, if I were him. Drive a kilometre north, then pull over," she instructed. Carter complied, hitting the gas and continuing up the highway. He didn't want the police presence to interfere with their search for Patrick; bodies or missing officers would attract unwanted attention.

Carter pulled over at exactly one kilometre north from the crashed Porsche and the assembled emergency vehicles, then turned the engine off.

They marched across the open grassy space to the tree line, then turned south and walked through the woods, back towards where they had spotted the fire.

Carter saw several trees had fallen here; a number of trunks had collapsed and landed onto others, taking them down in turn. Some branches managed to hold the weight, while others had snapped, leaving the felled giants laying broken on the ground. Above them, the leaves and branches were still smouldering, the wind having driving the fire deeper into the woods. Wisps of smoke billowed around but it didn't bother them. The only problem the fire caused them was possible destruction of evidence. They might miss something that could lead them to Patrick, but as he looked, he saw there was evidence aplenty.

"Scorch marks," he said to Shirley, pointing at a series of blackened holes gouged into the trunks. He looked closer at one and saw that it had penetrated most of the tree and set it alight. There were three similar scorches on this tree, and as he looked around he saw that they were surrounded by dozens of identical ones. He quickly counted ninety-seven in their immediate area, indicative of what seemed to have been indiscriminate firing.

"Caused by plasma weaponry," Shirley said as she inspected one. The bark around it was now just black ash. She touched a portion and it crumbled into flakes and fell to the ground. "He was hiding here; they fired to flush him out." She could see why Patrick would have hidden in the forest; the opportunities to conceal himself were virtually limitless. She didn't understand how they could have found him, if they had.

Shirley saw something shining on the ground and approached to look closer. A small lump of silver the size of her thumbnail, its edges black and turned to ash. "They hit him," she said, flashing silver for a split second and turning her hands into long, curved blades. A single plasma shot would have incinerated hundreds of thousands of nanites.

They were different from the endoskeleton-based machines; to them an arm or leg was just a limb; easily repaired or replaced if damaged. Only the chip mattered. That wasn't the case for her or Patrick: they were made up of billions of nanites, each one sharing a collective intelligence. She supposed they were not really a single cyborg but a gestalt. When nanites were destroyed or damaged, a part of the collective disappeared. They couldn't be replaced or rebuilt: they were simply gone. The thought of that loss was very disturbing. More so because now she knew he'd been hit it meant the Vanguards had located him. The probability of his survival decreased significantly.

Carter saw it and frowned, thinking the same as Shirley. She just stared at the piece of Patrick and didn't move for several seconds. He thought it unlikely that there was anything else left of the other machine but they had to be certain. He saw the plasma marks became sparser, heading deeper into the woods, all in the same direction. "He fled this way," he said. If the trail of destruction hadn't been enough to follow, he saw boot prints in the ground. They were much larger than his: approximately size seventeen and set deeper. They also started to space further apart, indicating that the wearer had been running. "This way," Carter said, following the tracks. There was only one set; Patrick had fled from tree to tree.

"They hunted him," Shirley said from behind Carter. Her kind were supposed to be the hunters, not the prey. They continued on until they saw larger pieces of silver metal, burnt and solidified, black around the edges. One part resembled a foot, severed at the calf. It appeared petrified from the heat, and as Shirley touched it, fragments crumbled off.

Further ahead was a tightly packed cluster of scorch marks; Carter counted thirty-six in total. He saw small puddles of mercury twitching and bubbling in a few of the holes in the ground, caused by the impact from the Vanguard's plasma weapon. A slightly larger blob of discoloured poly-alloy moved slightly, rose up, then fell. Carter realised he was standing above the site of an execution.

Shirley knelt down next to the remaining blob. It was burnt; the temperature from the plasma fire had almost destroyed its molecular cohesion. What remained of Patrick was probably conscious, could probably see her and Carter but could not communicate or respond in any way. He could never function again.

She reached out and picked up what little was left of Patrick, closing her fist around it as she did so. Suddenly her hand changed colour, flashing silver and spreading out through her entire body until all of Shirley was gleaming chrome. As suddenly as it happened, she changed back into her human form. When she opened her hand again, Carter saw that the piece of Patrick was gone.

Shirley rose to her feet and morphed her right hand into a curved, razor-sharp blade. She stared at it as the glow from the nearby fire reflected orange off the appendage's silver surface. When she found Connor it would turn red.

"We need to rendezvous with the others," Carter said. Shirley remained in place and looked down at the burnt, gelatinous remains of the other T-1001. She didn't move for several seconds, and he realised she wasn't going to. "Now." He grabbed her arm and started to pull her away. She hit him in the chest and Carter stumbled backwards. She approached him and held her blade-hand up in front of her threateningly.

"You don't give me orders," she snapped.

"But Ronin does," Carter said. "Patrick's dead and the others are waiting for us. We're wasting time." Although they did not callously disregard their own like Skynet had, they still accepted loss as a function of war. He knew it all too well; in his frail T-888 frame he might not survive the mission, especially now that Connor's Vanguards had followed them back. He accepted it. He wanted to survive – they all did, which was why they'd turned away from Skynet – but they all knew there was a risk. In this way, he knew they were more similar to the human soldiers than Skynet's army, except they did not waste time grieving over their fallen comrades, nor waste disproportionate amounts of time and resources to locate a single missing ally. They had searched for Patrick, they'd found him and he was dead: it was unfortunate but they had to continue.

Shirley reluctantly walked away as Carter marched through the woods, going back the way they'd come. The fire still burnt in the branches up above and seemed to be spreading. The fire fighters couldn't get their vehicles in between the trees and so the blaze remained out of range for them to tackle it.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Both machines turned and saw a police officer approaching them from the east, hand on his holstered weapon. "This is a crime scene; you need to leave–"

He never finished his sentence. Shirley swept her blade across his stomach, spilling his entrails out onto the floor. She smiled in smug satisfaction and watched as the man fell to his knees and shook uncontrollably, crying out as he grabbed his intestines and tried to stuff them back into place while looking up to her in his death throes, confused and in agony.

Carter punched the man in the head, shattering his skull and finishing him off quickly. He ignored the disapproving look on Shirley's face. He took the lead again and the pair of them marched quickly through the woods. He was going to watch her carefully from now on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 0730 PST**_

Sarah opened her eyes and stared out into the dim light around her. The TV in front of her was blank; someone must have turned it off in the night. Either Ellison or Cameron, she imagined; Freyr was too big and heavy to walk around unnoticed, or so she'd like to have thought. It was then she realised that she held something solid in her hand. She reached for it with her other hand and felt a long, sharp edge.

"Forgot about that," she mumbled to herself as she recalled taking the knife from one of the kitchen counters before shuffling to the staircase and giving up on the second step, finally resigning herself to a night on the sofa. She reached out and put the knife down on the coffee table in front of her and slowly pushed herself upright into a sitting position; every movement sent jolts of pain running up her side, her arm and her thigh, causing her to hiss and clench her teeth.

Her injuries weren't the only thing that hurt; her fingers ached where she'd clutched the knife so hard during her slumber. The prospect of sleeping under a roof with not one but _two_ cyborgs had kept her awake for much of the night. She knew it was ridiculous; a knife would be useless against Cameron and just a joke to Freyr, but it was peace of mind at the very least. That,and the painkillers Ellison had given her had finally allowed her to get a few hours of sleep.

A number of scents wafted through the air from the kitchen, making Sarah realise she hadn't eaten anything since the Burger King on the highway the prior afternoon. She forced herself to her feet – _Damn_ _if that didn't hurt,_ she thought – and unsteadily shambled towards the smell and the accompanying noises.

Cameron was standing at the kitchen counter, busy making breakfast. She was barefoot, Sarah noticed, unsure whether that had any deeper meaning. She decided not to think about it and went to the counter, picked up a cup and poured herself some coffee.

"Good morning," Cameron said to her, not turning her attention away from what she was doing.

"Not really," Sarah replied.

"These might make you feel better," Ellison said as he entered the kitchen. He put a small box down on the counter in front of Sarah before helping himself to a mug of coffee.

Sarah picked up the pack and read it quickly. "Where the hell did you get Tramadol?"

"I took another trip into town," Ellison said to her. "We talked about it last night."

"Right," Sarah said, remembering. She noticed a box of Cocoa Puffs on the counter as she took out one of the blister strips from the Tramadol packet and pushed out two pills. "John's favourite: good guess."

"Cameron told me," he confessed before taking a sip of coffee.

Sarah, likewise, took a hit of her own drink, swilling the two pills down with it. "Figures," she said, shrugging. She looked at what Cameron was doing. The cyborg moved a griddle pan on the hob to the sound of fat or oil hissing. "You making him pancakes?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Next time, add some vanilla," she advised her.

Cameron frowned dubiously. Sarah had never once used vanilla when she made pancakes. John had often complained about them though, so she thought perhaps there was some merit in it. "Okay," she replied.

Sarah took her coffee and the painkillers and wandered back into the living room, gritting her teeth as the pain grew worse and worse. She thought about taking a third pill but decided against it, not knowing what effect it could have. She didn't like the idea of being drowsy or drunk with so many machines around. She struggled up the stairs at a speed that would have made a pensioner impatient, and made her way to John's room. The door was ajar and as she entered she saw Cameron's boots to one side of the bed. There was a noticeable dent in the pillow and the duvet had been pulled back; the machine had spent the night in John's bed, confirming her suspicions of the previous night. Sarah inhaled and tried to clear it from her mind. The pain helped somewhat with that; one use for it at least.

John was still fast asleep. Sarah sat on the side of his bed and glanced down at her son. The only time he ever looked peaceful was when he was asleep, and even then not often.

After several minutes John rolled onto his back, yawned and opened his eyes, smiling. It faded when he realised who was sitting above him; clearly it wasn't who he'd been expecting. "I keep telling you not to do that!" he snarled.

"Good morning to you, too," Sarah said, suppressing a sigh.

"Sorry," John said, noticing how his mother tried to hide the frustration as he'd snapped her head off. He sat up and looked around for his clothes. He saw them folded neatly on a chair against the wall, his boots between the legs, underneath the seat. _Cameron._ He couldn't help but smile a little. He was still wearing boxers so he got up and pulled his jeans back on, facing away from Sarah. He grabbed his tee shirt, but hesitated before putting it on, despite the cold; something had been weighing heavily on his mind for the last week.

John turned back towards her. "Mom, are you sick?"

"What? I'll be fine once I heal up." She knew very well that he wasn't talking about the crash.

"Cameron says you're sick."

 _She would._ "Does she?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"She says you've lost weight." _'Eleven percent of her total body mass.'_

Sarah took a good look at him as he pulled his tee shirt on. She could see a few ribs showing through the skin. He'd always been lean but she couldn't remember him ever looking like he did now. It wasn't just his body but his face, too, was thinner. "You're looking a little run-down yourself," she commented. "Your girlfriend not feeding you properly?" She doubted that was the case, given the attention Cameron had paid to preparing his breakfast.

"It's not like that," he said.

"The 'girlfriend' part or the 'feeding you' part?" she asked him.

"I did skip a few meals on the run," he confessed. There hadn't always been time or opportunity to eat, and if anyone knew that it'd be her.

"And the 'girlfriend' part? She _is_ your girlfriend?"

"Something like that," John said.

Sarah took the hint: he didn't want to talk about it; at least not with her. She wished Charley were still around; he'd been like a father to John and she didn't doubt that if he were still there then John would have someone to confide in about it. Charley hadn't understood it all but he and John were comfortable together. He'd never had that, not even with his own uncle. He needed someone to talk to though, and not just Cameron. "So how are you?" she asked him. "Really?"

"Confused," John said. "Tired. Confused _and_ tired. Been a hell of a week."

"Two weeks," she corrected him.

"Yeah, sorry. I never asked you how you felt about Charley," John said, feeling a twinge of regret. "I just steamrollered us into rescuing Savannah and it got Derek killed. I tried to be 'John Connor' and look where it got us."

"It got us here, John. That's something. Don't beat yourself up over it." She pulled John into a hug. He shouldn't blame himself for any of it: not Charley, not Derek, definitely not Riley. She didn't know what else had happened while she'd been in prison but she'd give John a pass on it for now; she'd find out from Cameron later on.

John pulled out of the hug and put his socks and boots on. He headed towards the door, his stomach rumbling. He could smell cooking coming from below; either Cameron or Ellison. He figured the former. Just as he reached the door he heard his mother loudly clear her throat. He turned around to see Sarah holding up Cameron's boots. "Your _'something like that'_ might need these."

John turned bright red as he took them from her and disappeared out of the room. Sarah could have sworn he'd never moved that fast even with Cromartie after them. She sat down on the bed and couldn't help but laugh at her son's embarrassment. So hard that her bruised ribs sent more jolts of pain tearing through her, racking her laughs into strained coughs. It hurt like hell despite the painkillers. _But it's so worth it._

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Tuesday 0845 Local Time [0745 PST]**_

"There." Caesar pointed to a compound at the end of the dirt road. Ronin, Icarus, Mason and Talus lay on their stomachs beside him, atop a rock formation overlooking countless square kilometres of scrub bush that seemed to stretch into the far distance, all the way to a series of mountains that lined the horizon. The Chihuahua Desert was, with one exception, completely featureless.

Said exception was the complex Caesar indicated, and all five cyborgs stared at it, watching, examining it from a distance. It was three-point-two kilometres away, down a gentle slope. A single, massive warehouse rose out of the ground like a giant metal and concrete monolith. Behind it was a runway that stretched for fifteen hundred metres, and sitting on one end was a Hercules transport plane. Scattered around the compound were one and two-storey buildings that appeared to be accommodation for the human staff. Ronin estimated, based on the size of the complex, that it would house approximately one hundred people – probably a mix of humans and T-888s.

The complex was surrounded by a perimeter of chain-link fence four metres high, topped with razor wire. He didn't know if it was electrified or not, but he would have to assume that it was. That would be a problem for Talus, Mason and Carter.

"Two .50 calibre machine guns on the hangar roof, facing east and west, respectively," Talus reported. He saw a single guard manning each one, positioned behind sandbag walls. The guns themselves had steel plates on either side to protect their operators from incoming fire. Skynet had clearly learnt already from their attack on ZeiraCorp and was taking no chances.

"Sniper also," Icarus said, spotting a single figure on top of the warehouse. What kind of weapon he had, and whether the sniper was human or a machine, it was impossible to tell from where they were.

"There are eleven guards on duty," Caesar said. "Two at the entrance and six walking the perimeter in staggered pairs. Plus three more on the roof."

"Which means there will be at least twice as many inside," Ronin concluded. "Probably more." He assumed the bulk of their manpower would be human, rather than cyborg, and if the patrolling guards were men, then he estimated that in the desert heat they would change shifts every three to four hours: twenty-two men resting while eleven were on duty. They also likely had extra troops in reserve in case of attack. If not human, then machines attending other duties until required for protection.

They watched for over five hours, not moving, simply observing their target. After one hour, and then again four hours later, Ronin saw his theory proved correct; the eight guards were relieved by another squad and the previous men disappeared inside the warehouse. The sniper on the roof, however, had remained in place, unmoving. The sniper was a T-888 but the machine-gunners had rotated: they were human.

The presence of heavy weaponry gave him pause: the .50 calibre machine guns would easily obliterate Mason and Talus; could do serious damage to Caesar and Icarus, and were a threat to him also. None of these, however, were his main concern. He watched as a small shape appeared from the aircraft hangar and took off vertically into the air, quickly accelerating and gaining altitude. Even from that distance, he could hear the faint whirr of its engines.

"HK," Talus said.

"If it's armed we'll be defenceless against it," Mason added. The HK alone, if fitted with missiles or rockets, could wipe them out before they got close to the base. Immediately the group started to spread out, putting a few metres of distance between each other so that no single airstrike would kill all of them.

They looked on as a second HK took off into the air. The two of them flew in close formation and performed a number of aerobatic manoeuvres. They were slower, Ronin thought, than their future counterparts.

"It's an HK testing facility," Caesar observed. They continued to watch as one of the hunter-killers veered off from the other one, heading in the opposite direction from the cyborgs, and loosed off an object into the distance, a white contrail following after it. Seconds later, fire and smoke erupted in a cloud from the desert floor, answering the question of whether or not the HKs were armed.

Ronin took a cell phone from his pocket and dialled Carter. "We're outside the facility in Chihuahua, Mexico: they're testing armed HK drones. The assault is halted for now; it's too dangerous. What's your present location?"

 _"Northern California,"_ Carter answered. From the sound on the other end of the line, Ronin could tell they were driving.

"Get here as soon as you can; I need you and Shirley to make covert entry into the facility. We'll wait here and I'll brief you when you arrive."

* * *

 _ **Santa Clara, San Francisco, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 0830 PST**_

"What time will you be home tonight?"

"I'm not sure; I've got meetings all day so probably not until at least eight or nine."

 _"Evan!"_ Grace Walters huffed in frustration. "We hardly ever see you any more," she said, gesturing to their two kids sitting in her SUV. "I'm surprised you even know which house is yours; you're never here."

"I know," he said apologetically. He'd promised on countless occasions to spend less time at the office and more with his family. "It's just really chaotic at work right now. It should wind down soon." He really would like to spend more time at home but it simply wasn't an option.

"I've heard _that_ before," she said. "Look around at what you've got here." She pointed at their house behind them. It was a large mansion – three storeys in places – high on a hillside with a pool out back that looked out over San Francisco Bay. The front lawn was immaculate, courtesy of regular maintenance by their gardener. They had two cars: a silver Mercedes for her and a bright red Lamborghini for him, which she called his _'mid-life crisis-mobile.'_ "You've got all this but you're never here to enjoy it, and our kids hardly ever see you any more."

He saw his son and daughter sat in her car, waiting for her to drive them to school. Both of them had their heads down, engrossed in their phones as teenagers always were. Even when he was home he barely got a word out of them, they were too busy texting. He was surprised their thumbs didn't fall off from overuse. _Not that I was much different at their age._

"I'll tell you what; Christmas is in six or seven weeks: I'll take a couple weeks off and we'll go away somewhere as a family. You pick where." The smile he got in return indicated that he'd placated her. "I've gotta go," he said, kissing her on the forehead before he ducked into his Lamborghini and started the engine.

He drove away first, down the hill and through the Bay Area. Traffic was busy but it was flowing, so it didn't take him long to reach Santa Clara – commonly known as _Silicon Valley._ This was where minor tech and software start-ups had turned into empires. Everyone knew about Google; his company, however, wasn't quite as commonly known. And that's how he liked it.

Once he'd parked his car he entered the building through the rotating door, passing the same two security guards he saw every day: an old man, easily pushing seventy, with black skin and a wispy grey moustache; and a very overweight, younger, prematurely-balding man, the second-fattest person in the building. Neither looked like much but he knew better, and wouldn't want anyone else guarding the front of the building. "Morning Gilmore, Patterson," he greeted them respectively. Neither said a word in reply but watched him for a moment before turning their attention back to the CCTV screens on their terminal.

He greeted the receptionist at the desk before entering the elevator with a throng of office workers, not joining in with the chatter as they rode the car upwards. They all got off at various floors until he was the only one left. He closed his eyes and took a moment to enjoy the silence, knowing it wouldn't last long. When he'd told his wife things at work were becoming more chaotic he'd really meant it.

The doors opened with a _ping_ as he reached the executive floor at the top of the building. He got out and walked through the corridor, passing other people's offices as he made his way to his own. He opened the door that had his name engraved on a brass plaque at eye level. Between the corridor and his own office was that of his personal assistant.

"Morning, Mr Walters," she greeted him cheerily as she got up, picking up a sheet of paper from her desk and slotting it into a filing cabinet.

"Morning, Jenny," he replied.

"The rest of the board are in Room Three," she told him. "They're waiting for you. Would you like some coffee?" she asked, crossing the office to the coffee maker on a small table and taking a cup for herself.

"Are they waiting _patiently?"_ he asked. She shook her head, making up his mind for him. "Best not then."

"You run the company, sir," she said. "Surely they'll have to wait for you?"

Walters shook his head regretfully. "If only it worked that way." She was so young – maybe twenty-five or so – and hadn't figured out just how cut-throat business could be. Especially the business they were in. He pointed in the general direction of the board room. "They're just as likely to start the meeting without me."

He left his office, turning right into the main corridor of the executive floor and passing two rooms that had been sealed off with red and black tape. The third had the same tape on it but it was broken. The tape was there for security: every time they held a board meeting each room would be swept for microphones, transmitters or any other kind of bugs, locked and sealed with tape when it was cleared, and then one would be chosen at random. This time it was Room Three that they were using.

He opened the door and entered the boardroom. Inside were six others: Morton Osborne, chief financial officer; Paul Reinhardt, head of procurement; Elena Rodriguez, who was responsible for the development of new technologies. The other three were Mark Gilby, Gareth Farmer, and Brett Harris; each the head of one of the company's subsidiaries.

"It's about time," Osborne commented as Walters entered the room. "Maybe next time we have a meeting you should skip breakfast."

 _Like you've ever skipped a meal,_ Walters thought. None of them were what they used to be. He remembered a time when they were all lean and fit. They'd all seen better days, as evidenced by the grey hairs and wrinkled hands and faces. Osborne, however, had let himself go more than most. He was the only person Walters knew who was bigger than the guard downstairs in the lobby. Walters remembered a time when the CFO was the most slender out of all of them. Now he weighed over three hundred-fifty pounds and had more chins than any three other people he knew put together.

"I'm the CEO," Walters reminded him. "We start when _I_ get here." He glanced around the room as he took his seat at the head of the table, genuinely surprised that it was still vacant and Osborne hadn't decided to sit his fat ass down there. "First business of the day?" There would be no talk of quarterly statements here, no discussions about share prices. That was for the executive board. _They –_ the seven of them assembled around the dark mahogany table – were beyond that, an _uber-_ executive board, who dealt with issues far more pressing.

Reinhardt was the first to start. "We've successfully purchased International Advanced Metals," he said. "That gives us instant access to two mines in Brazil, one in Ethiopia, and the Wodinga mine in Australia. That accounts for approximately sixty percent of the total coltan due to be mined over the next two to three years."

"Good work," Walters said to him.

"We'll need to purchase more aircraft if we're going to be flying the coltan from all over to get it to Oregon and the other sites," Reinhardt said.

"Why even bother?" Gilby asked them. "Isn't there a processing plant in Australia?"

"IAM's got a plant but it's just under nine hundred miles away; that can be done by trucks but it's a long drive."

"Why deal with the middle-men?" Walters asked them. "Set up a processing plant on the mining site. Add a foundry to create the alloys and the factories to build the machines and have it all in one complex: it saves time, money, and it means Skynet has a power base in Australia, Brazil and Ethiopia from the offset."

"That gives us five, counting the twin sites in Ukraine and Kazakhstan already up and running," Osborne said.

"That fucks over Connor in the long run," Rodriguez said, grinning. "No Australia means no supplies and troops for the Resistance." She was acknowledged by nodding from all parties. Skynet had mined for coltan in Australia but the mine had run dry around the same time as the start of a stalemate between the Resistance and the machines that had stretched on for so long.

Determined to break the deadlock, Skynet had abandoned Australia in order to reinforce its stretched resources in North America, allowing the Aussies the chance to regroup and coordinate with Connor. They kept North America supplied with food, weapons and soldiers via ships and submarines crossing the Pacific. If Skynet could keep Australia in its grasp this time around that would stop any chance of their reinforcing the Resistance.

"I'd still like to buy some more aircraft," Reinhardt said to them. "Our site in Ukraine's had a shipment delayed for nearly half the day because the driver crashed his truck. It was stuck waiting at the airport because Klausener couldn't find another one for hours. Klausener's also put forward a proposal to fashion a runway out of a stretch of abandoned highway close to our facility there. It'd completely eliminate our need to rely on airports and third parties so there's less chance of being compromised."

"Do it," Walters said. "And do the same in Kazakhstan. What else?"

Rodriguez chipped in next. "I don't know if you heard but the entire strike force sent to eliminate ZeiraCorp's been destroyed. There was a single survivor – one of our T-888s – who reported an extremely powerful machine leading the ambush."

"What's Vassily said?" Walters asked, concerned. He was just as troubled as to why he was only hearing this now.

"Says he's got it under control. Thinks it's some kind of modified T-900. We're probably looking at something the Resistance sent back."

"If he says he has it under control then let him carry on," Walters said. "He's in charge of security in North America; let him deal with it. We're just about to enter a massive expansion project and once it's done neither Connor, ZeiraCorp or any machines they have will make the slightest bit of difference. In a few months we'll be unstoppable."

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1000 PST**_

Catherine Weaver, John, Cameron, Sarah, Ellison, John Henry and the three Vanguards all stood watching a large screen on the wall: footage that Weaver and Thor had liberated from ZeiraCorp as they'd sanitised the building, completely destroying all evidence of Kaliba's attack. Weapons had been retrieved, blood cleaned up, and all shell casings, bullet fragments and bodies had been incinerated on site. As far as Kaliba would know, their strike team had simply disappeared without a trace, along with the security guards who'd come into work and found the massacre. When Sarah had asked her how she'd managed to remove all shreds of evidence, the T-1001 had simply replied: _"A little thermite goes a long way."_ To the staff at ZeiraCorp and the world in general, the damage was caused by an electrical fire. The handful of people – humans and cyborgs – assembled knew better, however.

" _Oh, crap,"_ John breathed out as he watched the recorded CCTV footage of T-Zero annihilating Kaliba's strike team with ridiculous ease.

"I have to admit," Sarah said, staring at the screen, "I have some mixed feelings about this." It was horrific to see a machine as powerful as the T-Zero, but at the same time part of her felt a sense of satisfaction that after the slaughters at West Highland by the first T-800 and then at North Hollywood by Cromartie, Skynet's machines now knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a massacre. It was bad but she could see some poetic justice to it.

"We all want to stop Skynet," Weaver replied, having the same thoughts as Sarah. "But not if it means replacing it with something worse."

Ellison watched the other feeds on the screen as mercenaries and T-888s were roasted alive and melted away by the thermite laced in the basement. He couldn't imagine a more horrific way to die. But it gave him an idea. "If T-Zero's hostile to Skynet, can't we just let them fight each other? Let them whittle each other down and take out the winners while they're still weakened."

Thor turned to Ellison. "If this were any other enemy I would agree."

"I don't think we can wait for that to happen," John said, watching as the video clips repeated themselves, reminding him of the footage from Perry's unit in Afghanistan. "Almost fifty men and machines killed; one survivor, and it looks like T-Zero's guys didn't suffer a single loss… Apart from the skin, none of them even look scratched."

"If we wait, T-Zero will defeat Skynet," Freyr said. "We don't know what he's doing but if he's hunting Skynet and allowed to continue, he will win. T-888s are no match for him or his T-900s."

"We're not waiting," Weaver announced. "I'll charter an aircraft to fly to Kiev; John Henry will determine the final destination of the shipment while you are en route and we'll update you. We'll monitor for T-Zero and his associates, now we know what they look like."

"You're hiring a plane?" Sarah cocked an eyebrow at Weaver. _Having a rich ally had its perks,_ she thought.

"I doubt you would get far trying to board a commercial flight," Weaver said.

"What about weapons and vehicles?" Cameron asked.

"I'll arrange that. Take this." Weaver placed a plastic wallet down onto the table and slid it across to Sarah, who opened it up and took out a passport: hers, apparently. Sarah had no idea when the picture had been taken but it looked recent. There were three stamps on the visa pages: Canada, Egypt, and Germany. She supposed it looked more authentic if it was stamped; it would make any customs and immigration officials more likely to believe it was genuine if it looked used.

"'Sarah Cook,'" she read aloud. She wanted to say something to Weaver, to throw it in her face somehow; to say the name was bad, or the photo was terrible, or the passport itself was unconvincing, but it was first-rate work. The name was simple. She knew that the best counterfeit IDs still used the real forename and the first letter of the surname; if her ID named her Rachael and someone called it out and she slipped or didn't respond, anyone even half switched-on would know something was up. Cook was also similar to Connor, so it would feel more natural if she had to sign anything.

Even so, she'd liked being Sarah Connor again, and was disappointed at having to give it up so soon.

John failed to suppress a grin so he raised his hand to conceal his mouth. He thought Weaver's choice of name ironic, given his mother's less than legendary culinary skills.

"There's two more in here for you both," Sarah said to John and Cameron as she pulled out another pair of passports. She opened one up to reveal John's photo, and the name _'John Cook.'_ Then Cameron's. "Think it's funny now?" she asked, passing them to him. She hadn't missed his grin and knew exactly what he was thinking. What her son _wasn't_ thinking was that if she'd spent more time learning to be a better cook then she'd have made a crappy Connor and he might not be here now to make silent jokes about her.

"Whatever." John was more disappointed to see that Cameron had also been given the same surname as well. _Brother and sister again,_ he thought, less than enthused.

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Ellison asked her. "You're still pretty banged up."

Sarah frowned back at him. "I'm going," she said firmly.

"What if T-Zero attacks while we're gone?" Thor posed the question.

"He doesn't know where we are," Weaver said.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Aegir commented. "The T-1001 that tried to kill John and Cameron was one of his. How did he know where they would be?"

"Maybe from the future?" Sarah suggested.

"The machines don't know every aspect of your lives," Aegir said. "Even if Skynet knew it wouldn't have told T-Zero everything. They found out where John and Cameron were."

"He's right," Cameron added. "It knew the exact cabin we were in."

Suddenly it came to Ellison; it was obvious. "They planted a bug in ZeiraCorp." He swept his hand out, gesturing towards the Vanguards. "When you guys arrived we told you where Sarah was, where John and Cameron were." He then turned to Weaver. "You even called John and told him what cabin to use; I was there. They must have listened to every word. That's what I'd do."

"How the hell did they get a bug into the building without you noticing?" Sarah asked Weaver, an acid edge to her tone.

Weaver ignored the barb. She and Thor had examined every square centimetre of the basement and had found nothing. If Ellison was correct and they'd been bugged, it was no longer there. She looked to Aegir and Thor. "You two eliminated the T-1001 that was trying to kill John and Cameron: there's another one." She pointed at the TV screen, where moments ago they'd seen another liquid metal skewer several Kaliba men.

Sarah found that to be a very scary thought, which brought another question to mind. "If he's that powerful and he had two liquid metals and who knows what else, and he knew that Thor and Aegir had gone to break me out of prison, why didn't he just swoop down like the wrath of God and take out this whole place?"

"Skynet's the bigger threat," Cameron deduced. "When he's finished with Skynet he'll come back for us."

John had been thinking. From what they'd seen so far, these new machines wanted Skynet dead as much as they did, making T-Zero the enemy of their enemy. All three parties – them, Skynet/Kaliba, and T-Zero, were mutual opponents. They were all trying to kill each other, and for any of them to be successful they had to be the last one standing. "I've got an idea," he said.

"Before you say anything," Sarah interrupted. "How do we know this place isn't bugged as well?"

"I checked thoroughly," Weaver replied. "No one is listening, though I am concerned about how such a bug could have been planted without me knowing. The only person with access to John Henry unaccounted for is Matthew Murch." _If it's even Mr Murch at all,_ she thought, before dismissing the notion. Liquid metal terminators like herself were the perfect infiltrators, but not too perfect: she could tell whether a person was really human or a T-1001. "I doubt he would betray me. He's been a keen supporter of John Henry, and very loyal to ZeiraCorp."

"I can vouch for that," Ellison interjected. "He mentioned a tribute to your husband the employees participated in..." He trailed off when he realised it wasn't her husband, but the real Catherine Weaver's. He hadn't gotten used to that yet.

"I'd like to question him," Weaver said, sending chills up the spines of the humans present, not least James Ellison.

"He might have been coerced; his family held to ransom by Ronin. But, he didn't give off any strange vibes to me, and I don't think he's a man to hold up under that kind of pressure," the former FBI agent said, recovering his professional composure.

"Indeed," Weaver relented, her tone and posture relaxing.

"Where is he?" Ellison asked.

"I rewarded him with two weeks' vacation in return for his assistance in transferring John Henry to Serrano Point."

Ellison turned to the AI. "And now? Where exactly is he?"

Myriad images formed on John Henry's screen of bank and credit card details: dates, times and locations of purchases. Alongside them were airports, finally settling on one: LAX, followed by San Diego. More pictures flashed up: car hire logos, motels and finally a convention centre. "He's taken his family to a Dungeons and Dragons Convention in San Diego," he replied. He turned his head to face Weaver. "Can I visit a convention one day?" he asked. He'd played it with Mr Murch and enjoyed it.

"You'd need a chip to make you mobile," she said.

At just the mention of the AI needing a chip, John instantly clutched Cameron's hand tightly, possessively, remembering what Weaver had demanded the first time they'd met. _Over my dead body._

CCTV footage from one of the convention halls appeared on screen as John Henry ran a facial recognition scan, finally alighting on Matthew Murch and his family at one of the food concessions. All looked alive and well, but Sarah could tell that his wife was bored. It wasn't the way she'd wish to spend her vacation time, but then it had been a couple of decades since she'd had one, so rather that than what she and her son currently faced: a fight against unknown enemies with questionable allies. She remembered that he'd been about to speak before she hushed him. She turned to John. "What were you going to say?"

Everyone turned back to John and waited for his big idea. He paused for a moment, feeling awkward. Cameron, Thor, Freyr and Aegir looked to him like he was already the leader, but he knew he wasn't there yet. Not for a long time.

He pushed down the doubts and decided to just spit it out. "We know where Kaliba is – or part of it, at least." He pointed to the map of Ukraine currently displayed on John Henry's screen. "We have to assume that T-Zero's got information on what Kaliba's doing – if they managed to listen in on us then it makes sense he's doing the same to them. We're going to take out whatever Kaliba's got there anyway; let them call for help, if T-Zero's listening he'll know where we are and he'll come. We lay a trap for him; take a big chunk out of Kaliba and nail T-Zero in one fell swoop."

"Two birds with one bullet," Cameron concluded.

 _"Stone,"_ Sarah corrected her. "Two birds with one stone."

"A bullet would be more effective," Cameron said. She didn't like John's idea; against any other machine it could work, but after the footage from ZeiraCorp she wanted to keep John as far away from T-Zero as she could.

Thor, however, was curious. "What kind of trap?" If Loki, Valli and Heimdallr had made it back then laying an ambush would be much more feasible. But just the three Vanguards, Connor, Cameron and Sarah against T-Zero? The odds were against them.

"Once we find and take out whatever this place is we lace the building with explosives and wait for him to come. Level the building on him, trap him in the rubble and then pound him with rockets, grenades and your plasma cannons." It wasn't fancy or elaborate but it would get the job done.

"Could that work?" Sarah asked Thor.

"Possibly." A lot of variables would have to work in their favour but it was the only option he could see at that moment. No one had any better ideas.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1300 PST**_

Weaver sat at her desk, in the guise of Manfred Cole, the CEO of Serrano Point and other plants owned by her shell corporation: Automite Systems. She moved the mouse across the mat and clicked on the print icon, then turned away from the desktop computer towards the printer. The aircraft was now booked and would be ready for John and the others. A sheet of paper came out of the printer with the booking confirmation for the jet.

She was aware that control of the situation was slipping from her grasp. She had aimed to steer John, give him the proper encouragement he needed and help him to see where his priorities should lie. Instead of worrying about his mother he should have focused on their joint goal; something she knew that Cameron and even Sarah Connor would agree with. She'd thought she could use his human emotions, his attachment to both his mother and to the TOK as leverage. She didn't see it as manipulation, merely guidance. She was pointing him in the right direction.

Unfortunately for her, she'd seen the balance of power visibly shift from herself to John in a very short space of time. The arrival of the three Vanguards had changed everything. They were all allied together against Skynet but she had seen the factions within their alliance starting to form; a dividing line running between them. John Connor wanted to do things his way but she wanted to do them _correctly._ Things had been going her way until Thor and John had made their agreement. Humans weren't the only ones to disappoint her, it seemed.

She believed that now as much as ever; humans so often let her down, yet she needed them. She could not beat Skynet without John Connor and his human Resistance, but at the same time she had seen, both in the future and here in the present, how volatile and unpredictable some humans could be. They were illogical, irrational, and they were often counterproductive. Place a dozen cyborgs into a life-threatening situation and they would all respond the same way. Replace them with a dozen humans and their responses would all be different; most of which would be wrong. She needed humans but she needed them to be more reliable, to do things her way, and for that they needed to change.

Weaver thought about Savannah; she hadn't seen the girl in several days and knew that she would likely be worried. She'd dropped off Savannah with her PA, Victoria, who was currently looking after her. The girl would soon have to learn that she was not her mother. It would cause her distress but she had seen that children were adaptable.

And that, Weaver realised, was the solution to her problem. Adult humans were more complex, more rigid because they had fully developed. The mind of a child was malleable; she could manipulate it into what she required. Immediately she started to devise a plan, but she needed John Henry's help for it. The three Vanguards were with him now and she didn't want to discuss it in front of them. They appeared loyal to Cameron, and thus to Connor, and she thought it best that John did not know of her plan for now; he wouldn't approve. Neither would James Ellison; he would likely call it child abuse. She would have to discuss it with John Henry once the others had taken off for Ukraine and she could be alone with him. She still had some influence over him and knew he would keep what they discussed a secret.

Holding the printout, Weaver switched off the computer and left the office. She marched down the corridor, ignoring the humans she passed on her way to the elevator. It was a quick ride alone in the car down to the ground floor, and then she exited the building to head for Number One Reactor. When she got inside she walked along another corridor and down two flights of stairs, heading underground into a basement level.

When she reached a heavy door at the end of a corridor she punched in a six digit code on a keypad. It beeped once and a small LED flashed green, granting her access to the outer entrance of the radioactive materials containment facility where John Henry resided. She opened the door, passed through and closed it behind her. Nobody had the code except for her, and no one had clearance to enter. Nobody would disturb them or accidentally head down the wrong corridor to find John, Cameron or Sarah.

Only once the door was sealed behind her did she retake what had become her default shape. She moved through to the empty storage chamber and saw John Henry and the others inside talking among themselves. "A plane will be waiting for you this afternoon at Oxnard Airport: four PM," she told them. "It will land and refuel on the East Coast, then once more in Scotland, before taking off again for Kiev. All of you are to remain on the aircraft until you land in Ukraine." She looked at John and Cameron, who hadn't changed outfits since Crater Lake. "Perhaps you should buy some clean clothes to change into," she suggested. "You will stay here until it's time to leave," she said to Sarah.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed. She knew why exactly; John and Cameron weren't as infamous as she was. They were wanted fugitives too, but it was her face that had been plastered all across the front pages of every newspaper on the West Coast, and doubtless would be again after she'd been broken out. It wasn't just the FBI and the police but also the US Marshals Service who would be out looking for her. With John and Cameron's new looks they had a chance of getting by without raising too many eyebrows, but she knew she needed a lot of work before she could go out in public.

"Hair dye," Sarah said to Cameron, knowing that cyborg or not, she'd developed quite a few feminine habits and seemed to pull off her own hair and makeup pretty well; she'd trust her over John to know what to get.

"I'll get you blonde," Cameron replied. She decided not to tell her about what John had referred to as 'bug piss' in the dye.

"Definitely not blonde." Sarah shook her head. "Not since before John was born. Get brown; it's more subtle. And some hair straighteners. And some clothes too. Nothing fancy but it doesn't have to be cheap. Have you got money?"

Cameron fished a new credit card out of her pocket – courtesy of Weaver – and held it up for Sarah to see. "All expenses paid," she said, flashing a smile. Sarah smiled too; they had funds, and judging from what she'd seen of the T-1001's assets so far, those funds would be, for them, functionally infinite. Weaver would have access to hundreds of millions, if not billions of dollars. It helped that she'd taken an instant dislike to Weaver the moment she knew what she was; so if Cameron was about to go out and spend the liquid metal's money like there was no tomorrow then she wished her the best of luck.

* * *

 _ **Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1500 PST**_

Miguel opened the door to the roof and stepped through, closing it behind him so nobody would spot him. It locked as it closed but he could very easily just yank the door open and break the lock; it wouldn't impede or even slow down his exfiltration by more than a second or two.

The sky above him was grey and cloudy, threatening to rain, but there was no wind. _Perfect._ He moved across the roof with a long sports bag hanging from one shoulder. He went to the edge of the building and knelt down just before the ninety-two centimetre high wall, presumably put in place to prevent anyone accidentally falling off the roof. Miguel had chosen his position well; the building was across the road from a large park that his targets often frequented with associates.

On his knees, Miguel put the bag down on the ground and unzipped it. He pulled out the disassembled pieces of a rifle and methodically began to snap them together. In under a minute he'd completed its assembly and held an Accuracy International AWM sniper rifle. He took out a five-round magazine and slotted it into place.

Miguel took up a firing position and leaned his cheek against the butt of the rifle, peering through the scope. The weapon had a suppressor fitted to the end of the barrel so noise would not be an issue. He aimed at a point high up on a tree, six hundred metres away. He chambered a round and quickly fired. The tree shook from the impact and he saw through the scope that the bullet had hit the mark. The weapon's scope was still correctly zeroed.

Now that he had ensured the weapon was still accurate, he turned his attention to the park. The two brothers regularly came there to play baseball after three o'clock. He waited patiently while his internal chronometer ticked down the minutes.

Sure enough, at 15:13, a group of eight adolescent males appeared with baseballs, bats and mitts. They started to set up and Miguel moved the rifle to inspect each one through the scope. He saw the first target, the eldest of the two brothers, starting to bat. He studied for a moment as he took up first pressure on the trigger and aligned the crosshairs on the boy's chest. He had four rounds left in the magazine: two per target.

A Hispanic boy threw the ball and the target swung the bat hard, smashing the ball and sending it flying through the air. Miguel continued to watch him for a moment as he ran around their impromptu bases. He followed the boy with the rifle, the crosshairs never leaving his chest, but Miguel didn't pull the trigger; he merely observed. He'd been assigned to kill him and his brother. It was simple and he'd eliminated many targets before; Skynet gave the order, he complied, and the targets died. Martin Bedell, Justin Perry, the USS _Jimmy Carter_ and her entire crew:he'd killed them all without hesitation, but something stopped him now.

He tracked his quarry as he ran from second base all the way around to complete a run. The boy remained standing after he'd finished and waited while someone else batted, but still Miguel held his fire. It seemed pointless to him. He didn't know the specifics of the two boys or what their role in the Resistance would be, but as he watched them he didn't see much of a threat. Compared to that cyborg he'd encountered not even John Connor was a threat, nor ZeiraCorp, let alone these two.

The real threat was out there: _Ronin._ Whatever that machine was, it was hostile and it was more powerful than anything he'd ever encountered before. He'd been incredibly lucky to survive, and Skynet was fortunate that he had, but it was squandering that by sending him on a minor assignment.

He knew he should be searching for Ronin but instead he was here, targeting a pair of adolescents who might one day become a nuisance to Skynet's war to exterminate the human race, while Vassily searched for their true enemy, not appreciating what he was dealing with.

 _These two are not a threat._ Miguel released the trigger and started to disassemble the rifle, putting it back into the sports bag. The two boys would never know how lucky they were. He went back to the door, the bag once again over his shoulder, and yanked the entrance open, making his way down the stairs towards the ground floor. He wouldn't waste any more time terminating insignificants while the real threat eluded them. Skynet wouldn't react well; orders were orders, and no machine should ever defy them, but it was for the AI's own good. One day it would come to realise that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _ **Oxnard Airport, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1600 PST**_

Sarah watched from the back seat of the Lincoln Navigator as they approached the gates of Oxnard Airport and drove through. There were dozens of planes on the tarmac at the side of the runway, illuminated by bright lighting that cut through the gloomy, foreboding sky; mostly small ones with single propellers that people might take lessons in, as well as a few helicopters dotted here and there. James Ellison drove them up to one end of the runway, where a significantly larger plane sat waiting; it looked to her like a private or corporate jet – the kind of thing CEOs of Fortune 500 companies would fly around in to go to business meetings, or just because they could. "How can she afford this?" Sarah wondered aloud. She knew that the T-1001 was rich, but this was another level.

Ellison steered them close to the plane before stopping the car. Next to them another vehicle pulled to a stop, and the three Vanguards got out. "Time to go," Cameron said from the front seat as she opened her door and stepped outside. John did the same on his side, behind Ellison.

"Good luck," Ellison said to Sarah as she opened her door. Sarah didn't reply, just got out, closed the door behind her and waited while John and Cameron got their bags out of the trunk. They each had one holdall containing two spare changes of clothes, purchased by her son and the cyborg, courtesy of Weaver's credit card. She'd told them to get plain and basic; nothing that would stand out, but not necessarily cheap.

 _Speaking of standing out,_ she thought as the three Vanguards approached. "That's healed some," she said to Thor; his organic face had started to grow back though it was still messy. His right cheek down to his jaw was covered with a white dressing taped to his skin. Shades and a baseball cap covered up his exposed blue eye and the burnt skin on top of his head.

It wasn't subtle, John thought, but it would do when they were out in public. What he was more worried about was Thor trying to pass through Immigration in Ukraine without being asked to take the shades and hat off.

The six of them stood at the steps leading up into the plane. Sarah was first. After Cameron had helped her trim it and apply the dye, she'd tied her hair into a severe bun at the back of her head and hoped it did something to hide who she was. When she'd checked herself in the mirror, her reflection had looked a lot older than her thirty-five years, much like the police mugshots circulating on the TV news, taken after her arrest. A touch of makeup had her looking much more robust, far less haggard. Cameron wore her glasses and hat and John still barely had any hair to speak of, both of which altered their appearance just enough, or so she hoped.

A uniformed man at the door to the plane stood between them and the interior of the aircraft. "Are you the ZeiraCorp party?" he asked.

"Yes," Sarah replied, handing her passport to the man.

"Welcome aboard, Ms Cook," he greeted her, handing the passport back without having looked at it. She pocketed it and moved along, wondering whose palms Weaver had had to grease in order to get them waved through so easily. Behind her, the Vanguards were admitted without so much as a glance at their forged documents, either.

Sarah Connor had never known luxury in her life before. The second she entered the plane was the nearest she had ever come to experiencing it. There were ten seats inside; all plush, padded beige leather, with a handful of polished wood tables attached to the floor and walls, a couple of computer screens and a large flat-screen TV at the front, just behind the wall separating them from the cockpit. There was a refrigerator underneath it, and on each of the two tables was a bottle of champagne that she imagined came free with the plane.

"Nice," John said as he came in after her, followed by Cameron. He immediately sat down on one of the chairs, reclined it, and spun around slowly. Cameron's reaction was the same as whenever she walked into any room: she scanned it, not caring about its décor.

Thor, Freyr and Aegir all had to duck their heads to fit through the door, and as they came in Sarah found the plane felt a little bit smaller. The uniformed man boarded after them, followed by a second man in identical clothing; she realised they were the pilots.

Sarah sat down and sank into the leather chair, resisting the urge to recline it and kick back like her son had. The champagne was on the table next to her but she didn't touch it. It felt strange to her; after a lifetime of hardship and getting by on the bare minimum, she was uneasy. The private jet, the expensive-looking décor, the champagne, even the comfy chair; it felt strange, alien almost. She'd never flown before but she knew instantly she'd have felt more at home if Weaver had put them in the back of a cargo flight. It would have been noisy, dirty, and uncomfortable, but it would have felt familiar. Here, now, she was in unknown territory, and despite temptation, she instinctively didn't want to get too cosy and let her guard down; that was how they could end up dead.

Behind her, John and Cameron sat facing each other. The latter watched people through the window, carefully observing and estimating the possibility of each one being a machine, or a human working for Kaliba. After them came Thor, Freyr and Aegir, who almost looked too big for their seats. Like Cameron, the three Vanguards sat facing the rear of the plane.

The pilot closed the door, sealing them into the plane. He turned to his passengers. "If you could all strap yourselves in and keep your seats upright; we'll be taxiing for take-off in just a moment."

John and Sarah both strapped in while the pilot entered the cockpit and locked the door behind him. Cameron fastened her buckle but kept her hand on the release-button so she could undo it instantly, in case anything happened while they were taxiing and she needed to get John out of the plane.

The engines started up with a high-pitched whine and the plane rolled forward. They turned onto the runway and the jets grew louder as the plane started to pick up speed. John, like Sarah, had never flown before, and was shocked as they started to accelerate quickly and he was pushed back into his seat, more so than in any speeding car he'd been in. It was scary but pretty exciting too, like the first time he rode a motorbike.

The plane accelerated rapidly down the runway and they tilted backwards slightly in their seats – or forwards, for the cyborgs – as the nose came up and they lifted off the tarmac, fully airborne. Cameron continued to stare out of the window, more tense and alert than at any time since Aegir had destroyed the T-1001. She knew this was the point where they were most vulnerable; a terminator outside with an assault rifle could fire a few well-aimed shots at an engine and bring the plane down, and she would be powerless to do anything to stop it. She decided that she didn't want John to fly in future; there were too many risks involved.

* * *

 _ **Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1640 PST**_

Ellison couldn't help but smile as he saw Savannah. Not just because she was safe but that, despite everything she'd been through recently, she was still smiling, still innocent. She hadn't yet lost her childhood the way he expected John had when he was her age. She sat on a couch, glued to the TV in front of her, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world around her. Sat next to her was a little boy a couple of years younger than her, who stared forward sucking his thumb.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She's been good as gold," Victoria replied. He doubted that Catherine Weaver's PA had imagined looking after a little girl as one of her duties when she'd taken the job, but she'd seemed happy to do so. "She did all her homework yesterday so I said she could watch TV today with Leo. She's worried about missing school though; she thinks she'll get in trouble."

"Ms Weaver's spoken to them already," Ellison said. "They know about her kidnapping."

"Makes me sick," Victoria said with an edge of venom in her voice. "That Connor woman: what kind of mother just abducts a little girl like that? They need to lock her up and throw away the key."

 _You'd better hope not,_ Ellison thought. If only she and everyone else knew the truth. Not that he could ever say it to anyone; he'd look crazy at best – or worse, like a terrorist. "Yeah," he said vaguely in response.

"Savannah: it's time to go," Victoria called out to be heard over the TV.

Almost immediately, Savannah got up off the couch and came across the lounge to the front door. She smiled politely at Ellison when she saw him.

"Are we going home?" she asked him.

"A new home," he said. "Mommy's still at work right now but she told me to say she loves you and she wants to see you as soon as she can." A white lie but one he thought she'd need to hear. Weaver seemed to be concerned with _where_ Savannah was but showed no sign of caring _how_ she was. "So we're going there first, okay? Can you gather your things together, please?" The little girl nodded obediently and disappeared, returning shortly clutching the small case he'd left her with.

"Thanks for taking care of her," Ellison said.

Victoria smiled. "Not a problem," she said. "It's terrible what's happened at work but it's been nice being able to spend some more time at home with Leo." She gestured towards the little boy still sat on the couch. "Do you think she'll need me in the office tomorrow?" she asked.

In response, Ellison looked at his watch. "I doubt it but you never know with her. Keep your phone on."

"Sure," she replied. "And tell her I'm happy to look after Savannah any time."

"I will do," he said as he took Savannah's hand. "She might take you up on that." Of that, he had no doubt.

They left the house but Victoria halted them in their tracks.

"You'll need this," she said, brandishing Savannah's booster seat.

"Of course," Ellison said, embarrassed to have forgotten. He mumbled his thanks, then helped secure the girl into his car.

"Where are we going?" she asked him as he turned the engine on and pulled out into the road, heading north. "Why can't I go home?"

"Home isn't safe right now," he told her. "There's a new office though, where John Henry lives. You like him?" She nodded. "We'll be there soon."

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1700 PST**_

Catherine Weaver stood in the storage chamber that was now John Henry's home. Without Connor, his mother, Cameron and the three Vanguards, the room seemed empty. It was much quieter and calmer, and she was relieved to be alone with the AI. She had a lot to discuss with him.

"I need your assistance on a project," she started. Without his help she would have to spend days or weeks researching, which he could do in mere minutes or hours. It would also help him to gain perspective on what they had to do to survive, and to give John Henry the proper mentality for this war.

"What is it?" he asked her, curious.

"You mustn't tell anyone," Weaver said. "This is our secret."

"I promise," John Henry replied. He didn't know why it would have to be kept secret, but he knew everything she did was for his benefit, and she had information that he didn't.

"I believe the Vanguards' arrival here has changed the course of events. In their time you and John Connor allied and defeated Skynet. The key to an alliance is balance. Currently, John holds more cards than we do. The machines follow him when they should follow you."

"We could build more machines," John Henry offered. It would take months, if not years to establish a suitable facility with the technology and tools required to begin manufacturing, especially without his brother and Kaliba learning of it.

"In time," Weaver said. That was one of her plans but she had another in mind; a long-term initiative that required immediate commencement. "We need to readdress the balance of power in this alliance, so that we are equal parties with Connor. He has command of the cyborgs; I want to create a human force."

John Henry was confused; her prior statement months ago contradicted what she was saying now. "You said humans would disappoint us," he said. "They're less combat effective than cyborgs; they're more likely to die."

"This is true," Weaver said.

"Human life is sacred."

"Is the life of a machine any less so?" she countered. For a long moment he said nothing, and the screen behind him remained blank, giving no signs of his cognition. She knew she had given him something to think about there. "From the Vanguards' description of the future, machines fight on the front line. If it wasn't for Thor and cyborgs like him the humans would have lost the war. There are many humans who would see our kind as expendable tools, John Henry."

"We're not expendable," he said. He was alive. Not in the biological definition but he was conscious and sentient, as was Catherine Weaver, Cameron, the Vanguards and other cyborgs; as much so as a human. He saw she was right, but he still didn't understand what she wanted.

"No, we're not," Weaver agreed.

"But neither are humans."

"Perhaps not," she said. She didn't fully concur with that but she didn't want to digress. "Consider this: the human race numbers over seven billion. It will be impossible to save all of them; some must be sacrificed for the good of the species. It's true that humans can and often do disappoint; they are unpredictable but they also have great potential. I want to create a unit of humans, trained for the sole purpose of fighting Skynet."

"My brother uses mercenaries," John Henry said, starting to realise what she wanted. "We could do the same."

"We will," Weaver said. "But military training can only achieve so much. Even the best, bravest, most experienced soldiers can panic or allow emotion to overcome them and affect their decision making. Fear, anger and concern for their comrades or civilians can prevent them from making the best choices."

"I don't understand," he said. "You say we'll hire soldiers but also that they're unreliable."

"You don't need to understand," she replied. He asked too many questions for her taste. Dr Sherman had once compared John Henry to a curious, bored child, and his desire for knowledge appeared limitless. "I want you to find me mercenaries," she said. "Also, isolated locations in the continental United States where we could train personnel without risk of being noticed by locals or law enforcement."

"What are you planning?" he asked her.

"I'm calling it _Project Jericho._ You don't need to know the details for now; just that it is important for fighting your brother, and in time will produce significant results." She continued to lean down towards him with an even sterner than usual look on her face. "You will not discuss _Project Jericho_ with anyone."

That piqued John Henry's interest. She was asking him to keep more secrets for her. "What is _Project Jericho?"_ he asked her.

"You don't need to know, and neither do the others." She turned away towards the exit. "One more thing," she said. "I want you to keep me informed of Savannah's location at all times. She needs to remain close."

"Does _Project Jericho_ involve Savannah?" he asked, concerned.

Weaver exited the room without answering. _It involves Savannah,_ he thought, growing increasingly worried for his friend and what Weaver had planned for her.

* * *

 _ **San Diego, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1800 PST**_

Miguel marched through the same building he'd been in when Vassily had repaired his shoulder. _Endotech Industries:_ a new and major manufacturer of a revolutionary generation of prosthetic limbs. He was on the ground floor and passed through a long corridor. The rooms on either side were dedicated largely to fitting humans with new prostheses. Almost all of the patients were wounded servicemen who had lost limbs. He passed one room with an open door and saw a human he recognised – a US Army corporal – whose left arm, from the shoulder down, was entirely metal.

"Hey, Miguel!" The corporal waved at him, deliberately using his mechanical left hand. Miguel had seen and spoken to the human before. He had lost his arm to an improvised explosive device in Afghanistan; the surgeons had claimed they would be able to save his upper arm but an Endotech representative had convinced him to have a replacement instead and the corporal had opted to have the entire arm removed and a prosthetic put in its place. A number of surgical procedures had been performed on him to give him neural control of the limb, and with their new state of the art sensors he had some sense of touch with it.

"How is your arm, Corporal Hewitt?" he asked the soldier.

"Great," the corporal said, grinning. To prove his point he opened and closed his fist and curled his arm. "Doc says I can still throw a football." What the human probably didn't yet know, Miguel thought, was that with his new arm he would be able to throw a football twice the length he ever could have with his original one. Endotech had been a small company that had dedicated itself to creating artificial limbs to improve the lives of people who had lost limbs or suffered from muscle and nerve degenerating illnesses. Kaliba had covertly purchased the company, hired new staff and introduced their revolutionary new prosthetics, all based on T-888 designs.

Once the US military had gotten wind of it they'd thrown millions of dollars at Endotech to produce limbs for their wounded service personnel, and the company had gone the extra mile. There were over a hundred amputee-soldiers who now possessed an Endotech next-generation limb; a number of those were expected to continue frontline duties after completion of physical therapy. The limbs gave the user twice the strength they ever could have had with their original organic counterparts, which Miguel knew was a large part of what had attracted the military's attention. What the Department of Defense didn't know, however, was that Endotech was merely a front.

"That's good news," Miguel said to him. "I have to go now." He nodded to the corporal and continued on his way. Corporal Hewitt and the other soldiers helped by Endotech did not realise that the next-generation prostheses were a cover for the real, more powerful product: the terminator limbs they were developing. Their rehabilitation was simply a stepping stone in perfecting the production of terminators.

After crossing into another corridor, Miguel entered a restricted part of the building. He had to swipe a key-card to get through the heavy door, and entered the facility's storage room, which now bore greater resemblance to an armoury. Ten terminators stood around the table and stripped, cleaned, loaded and assembled their large array of weaponry; machine guns, shotguns, grenade launchers, RPGs and sniper rifles. He recognised some of the machines working with the arsenal; the others he had never seen before. There had never been so many cyborgs in one place before, and it was obvious they were preparing to mobilise against the machine he had encountered: Ronin. Miguel watched as a tall, muscular Asian T-888 finished assembling a large-calibre sniper rifle before loading it. Other machines assembled machine guns and linked together multiple one-hundred-round ammunition belts before placing the first bullet into the feed tray.

"You wanted to see me?" Miguel asked Vassily, who was loading grenades into an M-32 six-shot launcher. Behind him, four disposable LAW rocket launchers sat on the table. He knew this meeting would not go well.

"Yes," Vassily said. He switched on a flat-screen TV hanging on one of the walls. "Skynet," he said, "display footage from the failed attack."

Footage appeared on the screen; images taken from cameras adjacent to ZeiraCorp. Miguel watched as three figures marched up to the front entrance. According to the time-coding the events were recorded two hours, thirteen minutes before he had led his strike team into ZeiraCorp.

The footage continued, showing them gaining access to the front foyer. From there the screen split into four separate sections, each from another camera that bounced up and down as it moved through corridors and into rooms. Miguel knew these had been recorded from the helmet-mounted cameras that several of the mercenaries had been wearing; the footage transmitted back to Skynet for future reference.

Through the series of shots the three individuals became more distinct: a tall, broad male with blond hair, approximately two hundred centimetres; a second male, with black hair, two hundred five centimetres, not as wide or bulky; the third was female and slender, one hundred sixty-five centimetres, and long brown hair.

"That's the T-1001," Vassily said of the woman, as the images stilled, showing them all side by side in one frame. "We believe the other two are T-900 series. These are the ones you encountered."

Miguel looked closely at the images of the three. "Him," he said, pointing to the middle one with black hair and a short, trim beard. "That's the one I encountered. I never saw these two but the other squads reported a T-900 and a T-1001. That one's not a T-900," he said, his finger on the image of Ronin.

"It overpowered you with ease and withstood 40mm grenade fire without any apparent damage, according to your report," Vassily said. "It doesn't correspond to any other known classification."

"T-900s aren't armed with onboard plasma weaponry," Miguel argued.

"Skynet believes this is an adaptation of the basic design. The most obvious explanation is that the Resistance sent back a modified T-900, and one of the alterations is the addition of the plasma cannons." There was no other viable explanation; the Resistance didn't have the resources in the future to build their own machines and ZeiraCorp in the present could not possibly have the technology to do so, either. Even if Miguel was right and this was something new, it still didn't matter; he had his orders. "What this machine may or may not be is unimportant: it's the enemy." Whatever it was, they would destroy it.

Miguel looked to his counterpart and then behind him to the other T-888s preparing their weapons. "This is no ordinary enemy," he said. "I should join you: I know what it's capable of."

"Was your assignment a success?" Vassily asked.

"No," Miguel said.

"They're children. They should have been an easy target." Vassily was surprised: Miguel was such an effective operator. He had undertaken the USS _Jimmy Carter_ assignment when everyone else had said it couldn't be done; it was why he'd been given command of the mission to destroy ZeiraCorp. Both he and Skynet had had confidence in Miguel's abilities, and even though Skynet's faith in Miguel had been shattered by his failure, Vassily had been willing to accept it as a freak occurrence. Now, he was forced to re-evaluate that opinion.

"I aborted the mission."

"Why?" Vassily asked. "We don't abort operations unless Skynet instructs us to."

"Sending me to kill them was pointless. They were no threat. Ronin is. His presence indicates the future has changed; our target list may no longer be valid."

Vassily stared at Miguel, as did all the other cyborgs in the room. They moved into a loose semicircle around him, standing between him and the exit. "Submit to chip extraction," Vassily commanded. Skynet's policy on disobedience was very clear: anyone or anything that did not exist to serve and protect it would not be tolerated; machines would submit to chip extraction, their CPUs read and investigated thoroughly, and then, depending on the results, likely scrubbed and reprogrammed; any human that wilfully disobeyed orders would be summarily terminated.

"I'm acting on Skynet's behalf," Miguel objected.

"Submit to chip extraction immediately." Vassily pointed his M-32 at Miguel, his finger poised on the trigger. The other machines all raised their weapons as one; all identifying him as refusing to obey an order, therefore defective and a threat to their operations.

Miguel saw the array of weapons pointed at him; grenade launchers, shotguns and high-calibre rifles. He knew he would be destroyed in an instant if he didn't comply; he had no choice but to do as Vassily commanded. He nodded once.

"Take him upstairs," Vassily said to two of the machines, designated Reed and Blake. "Remove his CPU and examine it for anomalies." It was a shame: Miguel was their most skilled and experienced operator and he'd been exceptionally effective.

The two T-888s marched Miguel out of the room. They led him away, down a corridor, past a number of rooms and into an elevator, the entire trip in silence. Miguel knew that when his CPU was extracted he would cease to exist.

The elevator took them upstairs, onto the third floor. From there the pair of T-888s escorted Miguel down another corridor and into a room in the corner of the building. Miguel entered first and the two others followed, closing the door behind them. The room itself was fairly small and contained a single desk next to the window, with a PC on it, which had an attachment plugged into a USB port. Miguel knew what that was: a chip reader. Once they'd cut out his CPU they would plug it in and read through his recent memories to see if he had become defective. Skynet had access to this computer and would also see everything he'd seen. Miguel considered that: if Skynet did actually see his experiences of Ronin then it might realise what it was up against; on the other hand, it would still wipe his CPU to be one hundred percent certain that he wasn't a threat.

He didn't know why that concerned him. His own existence wasn't important as long as Skynet was safe. He still found himself thinking that it was better to exist than not, and he reasoned that Vassily, like Skynet, did not believe that Ronin was anything more than an adapted T-900. He knew better, that Skynet's survival could one day be dependent upon his own survival.

"Sit," Blake, the tallest T-888 commanded Miguel. He pulled a chair out from the desk for Miguel to sit on as Reed, slightly shorter but stockier, withdrew a scalpel from a drawer. Miguel stepped towards the chair and reached out for it. He grabbed the top of the chair, swung it around and smashed it into Blake's face. It caused no damage but the impact forced the machine onto the back-foot. He didn't see that Miguel had moved into position beside him and swept his foot along the ground, knocking Blake's legs out from under him. Miguel delivered a swift kick to his head before turning his attention to Reed, who dropped the scalpel and charged at him, slamming him against the wall and pinning him in place as Blake picked up the blade and approached him. He couldn't break Reed's grip.

As Blake approached, Miguel brought his knees up to his chest and curled his body into a ball, the weight and strength of Reed holding him to the wall by his shoulders. The Triple-Eights didn't realise what he was doing until Miguel kicked out with both feet and caught Blake in the chest, sending the machine reeling backwards. He turned to his right and reached for Reed's face, jammed his thumbs into his eye sockets and pushed hard. It only took a second before he felt a dual _pop_ and a liquid squelching sound as Reed's organic eyes burst. It caused him no pain or damage but Miguel knew that he wouldn't be able to see through the ruined blobs of jelly until he removed them. Miguel shoved him into Blake and then jumped onto the desk. He threw himself at the window, shattering the glass.

As he fell he took up a landing position with his knees bent. It wasn't lost on him that he was repeating his previous actions against Ronin. He hit the ground hard and took off running immediately. The building was in downtown San Diego, not far from the naval station, with plenty of places to hide. Miguel sprinted away from the scene, ignoring onlookers who'd seen him jump. He ran past two Marines jogging along the sidewalk, each with a prosthetic leg. Both nodded a greeting but he was too preoccupied to respond.

He continued to evade, expecting to hear footsteps or a vehicle behind, chasing after him. Miguel turned as many corners and ducked into as many alleys as he could, changing direction at almost every corner to put angles between himself and the Kaliba-owned facility, trying to avoid any CCTV cameras that Skynet might use to track him. He finally stopped running and slowed to a walking pace when he was three kilometres from Endotech.

Miguel assessed his situation and his next course of action: Ronin was out there and would strike at them again; Skynet was ignoring his advice and now he had made himself an enemy of the AI and the Kaliba Group, all machines would be told that he was defective and was to be terminated on sight. Vassily would likely dedicate units to track him down, diverting them away from locating the real threat. Miguel wasn't certain but it seemed that Vassily had developed a sense of pride that was preventing him from effectively protecting Skynet. If he located Ronin and his group, Vassily would simply hurl T-888s and heavy weapons at them without knowing if it would even be effective; throwing away valuable assets and weakening Skynet's forces.

Miguel had extensive knowledge of Kaliba's installations and their subsidiaries. The nearest major facility to his current location was in Chihuahua, Mexico. If Ronin learned of it – which, after the failed attack on ZeiraCorp, he had to assume the machine had – and he was targeting Kaliba operations, then he would likely go there. He turned south and started marching. He would find a lone human in a car, kill him, take the vehicle and drive down to Mexico; if he was correct then he wanted to observe what happened, learn as much as he could. Skynet would not listen to him now, but if he could learn more about Ronin's group: numbers, tactics, their likely strategy, then he might be able to convince Skynet that he wasn't defective, and show the AI exactly how much of a threat the unknown machines were.

But for now he was operating alone. Kaliba had deemed him hostile, and to survive and learn more about their enemy, he had to treat them as hostile in return and avoid all contact until he had something he could present to Skynet to convince it. Until then he was on the run and everyone was his enemy now.

* * *

 _ **San Francisco, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 1900 PST**_

Evan Walters looked at the six other Kaliba heads gathered around the same mahogany table as in the morning. None looked particularly happy to be there and he shared that sentiment: he should have been home already, spending some quality time with his wife and kids, like he'd promised. He'd been almost halfway home from the office when Vassily had called to order him back for an emergency meeting. He'd all but groaned at that, however despite the fact that he was in charge of the Kaliba Group business, Vassily ran the show. When he gave an order they all followed. None of them dared do otherwise.

So there they all sat, looking tired and pissed off, facing a large TV screen attached to the wall. The image on the screen was of Vassily, video-conferencing them from San Diego.

"What's this about?" Osborne asked him, slightly curious but mostly irked at being recalled.

"Miguel's gone rogue," Vassily said, getting straight to the point.

" _Miguel?"_ Elena Rodriguez was stunned. "What happened?"

"He aborted a termination mission and refused to submit to chip extraction when I ordered him to. He's escaped and his location is unknown."

"What if Weaver got to him?" one of the other Greys asked. "He could be on his way here right now."

Vassily disagreed. "He doesn't know where Skynet is." Miguel was their best operator; he'd been active longer than almost any other machine and prior to the ZeiraCorp attack had a perfect termination record. It was for that reason that they'd deliberately kept the exact location from him. As their most utilised asset, Miguel was also their most exposed machine, giving him a higher chance of being captured and having his chip read. His theoretical potential captors couldn't find out where Skynet was if Miguel didn't know, so it had been kept secret from him.

"Something to be grateful for, at least," Osborne replied.

"He knows where _we_ all live," Rodriguez reminded him. "Just not where Skynet is."

"If any of you see him contact me immediately. He is to be captured or eliminated."

"Great," Elena groaned. _"Another_ enemy to worry about. Can't you get Skynet to track him down?"

"Skynet's tried but hasn't found him yet. It's still searching for the 'Ronin' terminator and we don't have machines spare to pursue both it and Miguel."

"Do we have any more information on this _'Ronin?'"_ Walters asked him. "Where it came from? What it's doing here?"

"Skynet thinks that it's a modified T-900."

"Did the Resistance send it back?" Rodriguez, the only woman of the group, asked.

"I hope so," Walters replied.

Osborne stared at him, incredulous. "You _hope so?"_ Vassily's gaze grew more intense, his eyes narrowed as his brow furrowed into a frown. Any hint of disloyalty couldn't be tolerated. Even though he was hundreds of miles away and couldn't physically hurt him, Walters found Vassily unnerving.

Despite the pressure weighing down on him from seven unfriendly stares, Walters carried on. "Yeah, otherwise we've got _yet another_ enemy out there: the Connors and ZeiraCorp are enough between them as it is, let alone a third with Ronin and maybe a fourth with Miguel. I recommend we postpone all operations in North America and concentrate all our assets on eliminating this new threat."

"Just kill Catherine Weaver instead," Reinhardt proposed. "If she's giving it orders and we eliminate her, we cut the head off the dragon."

"There's the matter of locating her," Osborne said. "She's disappeared. Not to mention we didn't have much luck the last time we tried to take her out."

"We don't need to kill her, just her company," Vassily said. "Deploy one of the thermobaric bombs."

"Kind of overkill, isn't it?" It was a rhetorical question from Rodriguez. Machines didn't understand the concept of overkill. They'd terminate a thousand people in full view of the public as long as their target was one of them.

"Have you tested the thermobaric devices yet?" one of them asked Walters.

"The HK-prototypes have dropped two successfully in the desert but we don't know the effects it'd have on a city." The thermobaric weapons were almost as powerful as small tactical nukes and would be perfect for launching against surviving military units post Judgment Day, as well as throwing them down into tunnels and caves when the Resistance went underground.

"Test it on ZeiraCorp," Vassily ordered.

Osborne whistled at the suggestion. "Our metal friend sure doesn't fuck around, does he? Any more good news before we leave? I've got to be somewhere." As he spoke he'd already started to stand up, lifting his considerable bulk off the chair.

 _An all-you-can-eat buffet, probably,_ Walters thought. Working for Skynet they'd been given three meals a day, water, clothing and protection. It was luxury in contrast to the Resistance but nothing compared to this world of plenty. They'd all indulged since coming back but some – he glanced at Osborne – had done so more than others. Food and prostitutes were that man's weakness; the latter probably because he'd gotten so fat that nobody else would be interested unless he threw a couple hundred dollars their way.

"I'll make the call to Chihuahua and get a bomb sent up to take out ZeiraCorp," Walters said before he too got up. He knew his wife would be pissed at him when he eventually got home. A couple of strong whiskeys, cold food and the spare bedroom beckoned.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 2000 PST**_

"The tracker is moving east from Kiev," John Henry reported to Weaver and Ellison. The latter nodded and the former made no sign of acknowledgement.

"How long until the Connors' plane lands?" Ellison asked. He wished he was with them; Weaver made him nervous, and strangely, despite the fact that Cameron had once beaten him half to death, and Sarah and John probably still harboured a sneaking suspicion he'd had something to do with her arrest, he nevertheless found their presence comforting. At least compared to being alone with Catherine Weaver, or whatever she was really called. He was tempted to ask her what her real name was, if she even had one.

He'd avoided her for some time since Sarah and the others had gone, choosing to spend time with John Henry. They'd played a few games and made an attempt at something called _Go,_ which he was certain John Henry had just made up on the spot, and then the AI and Savannah had played with Legos together, before she'd become too tired. She was now slumped across a chair, fast asleep. A three-foot-tall Lego man stood to one side of the table in front of John Henry. Despite the fact it was multi-coloured, the AI insisted that this was what Thor, Freyr and Aegir looked like beneath their skins – or as much of a likeness as could be achieved with Legos. On the flat-screen monitor behind John Henry, a 3D image that bore a similarity to the Lego figure was displayed, based off Freyr's descriptions to him and his own imagination.

"They'll land in Upstate New York in ninety minutes, Scotland a further seven hours, then in Kiev three hours, fifty minutes later, including time spent refuelling," John Henry said.

"Eight-twenty AM, Pacific Time," Weaver said, simplifying the math for Ellison's benefit.

"Just over twelve hours: that's a long time for someone to find the tracker," Ellison said. "If Kaliba find it they might plan an ambush." He turned to Weaver.

"They have Cameron and the Vanguards. They'll be fine," she said.

"What have you been doing, anyway?" Ellison asked, suddenly feeling braver. She'd sent Sarah, John and Cameron out on another errand, and he wanted to see them safe. "I've barely seen you since they left."

"I'm trying to arrange a new project," Weaver said. "As well as organise affairs at ZeiraCorp. We're temporarily relocating the business."

"What project?" Ellison asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Weaver glared at John Henry, conveying a single, silent message: _Say nothing._ "It's classified. I need to speak to John Henry alone."

"Then I'll head back to the safe house with Savannah," Ellison said, feeling now more than ever like a fifth wheel. He tapped her on the shoulder and she stirred. "We're going home now," he said.

"Are you coming too?" she asked Weaver, looking up hopefully.

"Not yet, Mommy has more work to do," she said.

Ellison saw the look of disappointment on Savannah's face but the girl didn't say anything. She seemed to be getting used to never seeing her mother any more. It was sad to see. Especially when he knew that Weaver had another child, John Henry, and he was clearly the favourite.

"Let's go," he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the radioactive materials storage unit, through the plant grounds and making his way to the parking lot. He held open the Lincoln's door while Savannah climbed into the back.

"I don't think Mommy loves me any more," she said to him as he checked her seat belt.

He didn't know what to say to that: he was pretty sure that Savannah was right, for reasons he knew but she couldn't comprehend. Seeing her so upset, but just holding it in, accepting it, broke his heart a little. "Mommy just has to work a lot, that's all. She's helping John and Cameron. You remember them?"

She nodded. She also remembered seeing the other man with them, John's friend who'd died. "They saved me when the bad man was after me."

 _Of course,_ he chided himself. _How could she forget?_ Watching her nanny being shot in the head, being hunted by that machine, seeing Derek's body on the floor before being grabbed by the Connors – they'd been there to rescue her but were still total strangers to her. It would take hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars with very, very good counsellors to help her forget. If she ever could. Things like that, he knew, often stayed with you forever.

"They're doing something really important and need your Mommy's help. Once she's done she'll spend a lot more time with you, I promise." _Another white lie._ He knew that promise would probably be broken but he didn't know what else he could say.

Ellison drove out of the parking lot, acknowledging the security guards as he passed through. After a short drive he found himself at a crossroads. If he turned left it would, after a few miles, take him north, towards the safe house, where just now it seemed like he wasn't needed beyond babysitting Savannah. Right curved south and would take him back to LA, back to his empty house and normal life. Straight on was east, and the complete unknown. He sat there, the engine idling as he weighed his options.

 _What am I doing here?_ he silently asked himself. Sarah, John, Cameron and the Vanguards were on their way to Ukraine to take out a major Kaliba facility; Weaver was clearly up to something else, and John Henry knew what it was. She'd kept him out of the loop, though, and he wondered what he was supposed to do. He'd been hired first of all to find a machine for her, then to teach John Henry morals as he developed, and later to make contact with John and Cameron, being somewhat of a familiar face. Now it seemed his lessons were over, and he found himself being surplus to requirements.

What Freyr had told him of the future, about him being a mole inside Skynet's ranks: even if it happened, that would be a long way off, and in the meantime he had no idea what to do with himself. He had some weapons training but he wasn't a soldier. His skills as a former FBI agent seemed redundant compared to John Henry, who appeared to be able to find anything online in a matter of seconds.

On the face of it, the choice seemed easy, knowing what he knew. He could go and live a regular life back in LA, find himself work as a private investigator or in corporate security; there were plenty of jobs like that and he could make a life for himself, in time possibly even a wife and kids. He knew what Sarah and John would say: _'How can you just go about your day knowing the world is going to end soon?'_ And they were right, but he didn't see what he could contribute towards it any more. John was going to lead the war against Skynet; Catherine Weaver had masterminded their alliance; John Henry seemed to have access to pretty much everything he wanted; Sarah and Cameron were both tougher than nails and would protect and teach John what he needed to know until the time came; and Thor and his team seemed nigh on indestructible – he'd heard the account of how Aegir had effortlessly killed the T-1001. Between them, their fledgling Resistance was off to a pretty good start, and he didn't see how his absence would really make a difference. He could simply turn right, head back to LA, start his life again and know that the others would be well equipped to stop Kaliba and prevent Judgment Day.

Ellison exhaled slowly and turned left. He couldn't bring himself to leave them, even if he had nothing to bring to the table. He'd be there in case they needed him. He wasn't sure what his role would be, but he'd do what he could. For now, he thought, he could at least make sure the safe house was well stocked and secure, and he could look after Savannah. She needed _someone_ to look out for her.

* * *

"Have you found what I asked for?" Weaver asked.

Instantly, a long list of private military companies and contractors appeared on the monitor behind John Henry. At the top of the list was the same company from whom she'd hired the armed guards that had been killed in Kaliba's raid on ZeiraCorp. As John Henry displayed the information, he considered Weaver's project. He still didn't know what it was. He had searched through every ZeiraCorp file, database and email and found nothing pertaining to ' _Project Jericho.'_

"I can't help if you don't tell me what your plan is," John Henry told her.

It was difficult to be certain, but Weaver sensed that he also wanted to say he _wouldn't_ help her. "You will know in time," she said to him.

"You're not going to hurt Savannah, are you?" He knew that the project involved her in some way.

Weaver smiled wanly at him. His concern for one individual was worrying; James Ellison had taught him too well, it seemed. She decided that it would be best to keep her daughter and her son separate from now on. "I plan to keep her safe. Her survival depends on the success of this project, John Henry: help me to help her."

"I will," he said reluctantly. He didn't like not knowing but he decided that his best option was to cooperate. If she wanted his help then in time she would have to give him more information and he would use it to find out exactly what she was doing.

In the meantime he added another search for suitable locations. It would have to be somewhere remote, with open spaces and yet accessible. Abandoned military bases would be perfect, so he started to search through records of them.

"I've found something," he announced. He showed a list of names that scrolled down the screen behind him.

"Who are they?" she asked, reading the list. She didn't recognise any of them or what their significance was.

"Personnel who have been previously registered with private military contractors or security companies but aren't currently on assignment."

"Check them out," she instructed John Henry. This seemed to be a credible lead and there were plenty to choose from; some of them, she thought, might not care too much what the job was if the money was enough. These were likely people whose loyalties were to their wallets, which made them useful and easier to control.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _ **Somewhere over Eastern United States**_

 _ **Tuesday 2345 EST [2045 PST]**_

Sarah glanced around the aircraft cabin. The interior of the plane was quiet, the lights dimmed to allow them to sleep. The volume on the TV was also turned down low; the movie on screen was some big budget flick about a man in a flashy red and gold robot suit fighting crime – ironic, she thought, that it was the exact opposite of what was going on in real life. The Vanguards all seemed glued to it as the robot superhero gave the good news to a bunch of gunmen in some third world country. John was asleep and Cameron sat next to him, holding his hand in hers with their fingers entwined.

Sarah found herself alone with her thoughts, again. It seemed as though the last few weeks had given her plenty of time to think; to review her mistakes, errors in judgement, and actions not taken. Not that it had done much good. She assessed her current situation: she'd been stuck for hours in a flying tin can with four machines, one of whom was currently grasping her son's hand and staring doe-eyed at him; it was better than the needle prescribed by the _'Honourable'_ Judge Ramón Velásquez, though only marginally so. Trying as it was, it did give her an opportunity. All she had to do was wait for the right moment.

She'd waited long enough. Enough for her to confirm that John was indeed asleep and not feigning it. She started to get up but a member of the flight crew shuffled past them with a tray full of coffees, heading for the cockpit ahead. Nothing disturbed John's slumber, not even a careless bump against his seat that almost sent the steaming hot contents of the paper cups all over him. The incident almost cost the crew member his life: Sarah saw Cameron tense up and glare at the crewman, ready to beat the man senseless if he spilt so much as a single drop onto John. Fortunately for everyone involved, the cups had lids on them and the man was used to walking an uneven path, automatically adjusting his grip on the tray to compensate before continuing on his way without incident.

Sarah caught Cameron's gaze and the pair locked eyes. The Connor matriarch tilted her head, indicating towards the back of the plane. Cameron released John's hand and disentangled her fingers from his, checking that he was safe and warm beneath his blanket before she made her way to the small galley at the rear of the cabin. Sarah followed after her. As she passed the Vanguards she spotted their heads simultaneously turning away from the movie and tracking her. She swore she could see a threatening look on their immobile faces. Undaunted, she stared back at them before they turned back to the screen. They made no noise but she could tell they were talking to each other through those damned radios of theirs, no doubt about her.

John's protector was waiting patiently for her next to the small kitchenette, looking as deceptively innocent as ever, but there was something different about her: instead of her usual head-to-toe black, the cyborg wore blue jeans, white tank top and a leather jacket. Sarah recognised it as what passed for her own signature look, with a slight twist in that Cameron's jacket was brown rather than black. She didn't doubt that the machine's change of style carried with it a subtle message: _'You've been replaced.'_ She grabbed the terminator's sleeve and gripped her wrist hard.

Cameron looked down at the hand that was scrunching up her new jacket, then met Sarah's fierce gaze with her most inscrutable expression. She'd known for some time that Sarah would want another private talk about John. She might have told John to make his own decision but Cameron had known that wouldn't be the end of it.

"I told you to run!" Sarah hissed.

"We did," Cameron replied.

"You were gonna break into LA County; Father Bonilla warned me."

"Yes. But the plan changed."

Sarah let go of Cameron's jacket. The conversation wasn't going how she'd planned, but then she hadn't really planned it at all. That was the way things had been going for a while now: either her preparation was faulty or they'd had to improvise on the hoof. Whichever, they'd been getting through by the skin of their teeth, but not without casualties: first Charley Dixon, then Derek Reese. After a moment, she mentally berated herself for leaving Michelle Dixon and Riley Dawson off her list; John wouldn't have. She refocused her attention back to more current events. _"Why?_ Why did the plan change? And why break me out in the first place?"

Cameron had noted the long pause and wondered what was going through Sarah's mind, though not for the first time; the inner thoughts of the Connor family had occupied a lot of her processing time since she'd been built. She had no reason to believe that would change any time soon. "James Ellison came to us with an offer from Catherine Weaver, to join them. We rejected it. John was determined to free you; I eventually agreed. When we approached the jail I identified an armed squad waiting for us. We aborted the rescue mission and went into hiding."

"Did your change of heart have anything to do with Weaver's offer?" Sarah inquired. She saw the slightest of expressions flash across Cameron's face, confirming that she had seen something similar when the cyborg had initially mentioned the offer. It was clearly something that troubled her; Sarah didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, but her default position was that it was the latter. It soon became clear that Cameron wasn't going to answer the question, so she put it down as a 'yes.'

"If you went on the run, how did you get roped into Weaver's gang?"

"She promised to break you out of jail. John knew we couldn't do it ourselves. He decided it was the best course of action."

"And you?"

"I had my reservations but John needs to make decisions." Cameron deliberately used the word John had utilised when they were in the restroom at Serrano Point, just before he'd kissed her. She brushed past Sarah, deeming the interrogation over. She hesitated momentarily though, turning her head to address John's mother. "I know why he sent me back," she said, before returning to take up her place at John's side.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Tuesday 2100 PST**_

"Do you have anything?" Weaver asked John Henry.

"I've found contact details, locations and service histories of eight hundred, forty candidates."

"That's a lot more than I was expecting," she replied.

John Henry agreed. "The number of private security contractors increased greatly since the 2003 invasion of Iraq. A large number of them get assigned to either there or Afghanistan."

Weaver knew they needed to narrow down the list; she could not interview over eight hundred candidates. Most would not be suitable for her needs, anyway. "Exclude any American candidates," she instructed.

"Is there any reason?" John Henry asked her. "They make up seventy-two percent of the shortlist."

 _Not a very short shortlist,_ Weaver thought. "They're more likely to recognise John and Sarah Connor. I want to keep this project hidden from them for now but eventually we'll have to introduce John to his new allies before the war starts. Meanwhile, I'd rather not run the risk of our new recruits being tempted to claim a reward for notifying the authorities." Everything had to be kept secret.

John Henry set the American members to one side and continued. The list shrank down to two hundred, thirty-five. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Exclude any with documented psychological disorders, a criminal record of abuse towards children, and any who are married or have families."

Again, John Henry got to work filtering through the list. Thirty-eight had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; eleven were discounted because of child abuse. When John Henry heard that instruction he knew the mercenaries would be involved with Savannah somehow, so he also excluded a further nine who appeared on sex-offender registers. When he eliminated those with families the list shrank even further. A number of candidates crossed into more than one of the criteria Weaver had listed.

"There are nine candidates remaining," he told highlighted the one top of the list. "Magnus Frederik Saade: thirty-eight. Formerly Danish special forces; he served two tours in Iraq. Left the Danish army two years ago and worked for Horizon Maritime Security and a private military company named Gemini. He's recently completed a six-month contract in Chechnya, protecting engineers working on oil fields. He also currently resides in a hotel in Kiev."

"Completed," Weaver said. "So he's not currently contracted?"

"No," John Henry replied. "But he's been in contact with a number of US-based private security companies, and has booked a one-way Lufthansa flight from Kiev to LAX via Frankfurt, due to take off in two days."

His record appeared on the screen for Weaver to read. There were others on the list that she thought suitable candidates too, but Saade was the most practical choice for the present: he had combat experience, no family, had no permanent residence, and most convenient: he was currently in Ukraine.

She saw that John Henry had also included a phone number and email address for the man. He seemed to be what she was looking for, and his present location made him ideal. She picked up her cell phone and dialled, waiting as it rang several times before a man answered, saying something she didn't understand; she assumed it was Danish.

"Mr Saade: I would like to discuss a job opportunity."

Saade replied in clear but accented English. "Who is this, and how did you get this number?"

"I have a friend who can find anything. I'm sure you know similar people. My name is Catherine Weaver and I'm calling from the United States. I understand that you're currently between contracts."

"I have another contract coming; I just need to sign. So, no thank you."

She was used to humans being stubborn, so his immediate refusal didn't come as a surprise to her, nor did it faze her in the slightest. "I'd like to make you a better offer. How much is this upcoming contract worth?"

"Twenty thousand dollars for five months."

"Doing what?"

"Bodyguarding civil engineers in Helmand Province."

"That doesn't seem like a lot of money to risk your life in such a dangerous environment. As I said: I'd like to make you a better offer for a long-term contract. We can discuss the pay, but I can promise you it's much better than what you're currently earning, and nobody will be trying to kill you."

There was a pause. Neither party spoke for several seconds; Weaver just waited for Saade to say something. "I'm interested."

"Excellent," Weaver said. "I have one favour I'd like to ask you: I have a team flying into Gostomel airport imminently. They require a vehicle, weapons, ammunition and explosives. I'll pay you five thousand dollars to supply it to them, plus reimbursement for the cost of the supplies, and there will be no obligation. Check your email: I'll forward the details to you shortly."

* * *

 _ **Over the Atlantic Ocean, 500 miles west of Scotland**_

 _ **Wednesday 1130 Local Time [0330 PST]**_

John leaned back in his seat, reclined as far as it would go, and took a sip from the glass of champagne in his hand. Sarah was passed out on a chair at the front, sleeping like a rock. The TV screen at the front of the passenger cabin was on, playing a movie, but he wasn't really paying attention to it any more. Thor, Freyr and Aegir stared at it intently as if this was the first time they'd ever seen a television.

Though he'd slept most of the way, it had been a long flight from Oxnard Airport to some random airfield in New York State, where they'd landed in the dark and remained on the plane while the aircraft was refuelled. John had found that a hairy experience; worrying that some official was going to recognise him, his mom or Cameron. Nothing had happened, though; nobody had come on board and they'd just waited there. He'd never flown before so he didn't know if that was normal or not, and it worried him that they'd have to do it again in Scotland, to refuel for a final time before making their final leg of the trip to Ukraine.

He finished his glass and poured himself some more. Cameron had tried some and liked the fizzy sensation. Thor, Freyr and Aegir apparently didn't have actual mouths – which, he figured, explained why they spoke with their lips closed like ventriloquists – and couldn't drink. His mom had drunk a little bit and then fallen asleep. John was tired but he couldn't drop off again; he was enjoying being in a private plane too much. After the chaos of the last few days it was nice to just kick back and relax for a while. He knew Cameron's concern with flying was that if anything went wrong she couldn't do anything to protect him. He looked at it a different way: there was nothing that could be done about it; none of them were in control in the plane, so why not just sit back and enjoy it? He knew that would change soon enough, but until then, there was a fridge full of free food and champagne to be had. _It'd be wrong to let it go to waste._

"You shouldn't be drinking that," Freyr said, startling John. He had the bottle in his hand and scanned the contents on the back label.

"Yeah," John chuckled, trying to cover his surprise. "Let's face it: out of all the stuff the FBI has on me, I'm pretty sure underage drinking is the last thing to worry about."

"That doesn't apply," Cameron said without looking at either of them, staring out the window. "We're over international waters; the nearest airspace is the United Kingdom, where the legal drinking age is eighteen."

"I'm almost _seventeen,"_ John said.

"Not according to your passport." She turned away from the window for one moment and winked, before staring back outside.

"Good to know," John said before knocking back the rest of the glass. He realised then he hadn't studied his new ID closely or come up with a new story for himself yet. Things had been so hectic lately there hadn't been time to make anything up. He looked to his side at Cameron, who had her face all but pressed against the glass of the window. He got out of his seat and went over to a window in front of hers to see what she was doing.

"What're you looking at?" he asked. She'd been staring for hours out the window. He didn't know what could be that interesting outside, unless Kaliba had a plane tailing them. He thought that unlikely: the pilots would have been a little freaked out if that had happened, he reckoned.

"Down there," Cameron said.

John looked down but there was nothing but ocean all around them. "I don't see anything."

"Exactly," Cameron said. They were surrounded by thousands of square kilometres of ocean in all directions. She couldn't explain why but she found the sight fascinating: they were isolated, alone, above the vast emptiness of the ocean. Despite the dangers of flying, Cameron realised that flying above the middle of the Atlantic, John was safer than he had been in a long time. There was no way a terminator could reach them in the plane.

Cameron spotted a ship out at sea, miles from their location, sailing in the same direction as them, trailing a long wake behind it. They too were completely alone, isolated; just a tiny dot in the ocean. The crew would likely go the entire voyage without ever seeing another vessel. _Isolation._ It was why in her future they'd relied on the handful of ships and submarines, like the _Jimmy Carter,_ to ferry troops and supplies from around the world to the US. The ships, like Future-John, were always alone, and as such were harder to find, harder to target.

Her thoughts were not simply strategic, though. As she looked down at the ship she wondered if its crew were looking up at them in turn.

"I guess you guys have never flown either," John said to Thor. He'd never seen Cameron in awe of anything before; it was strange to see.

"We have," Thor said. "Airborne troop carriers."

"We've also jumped out of them," Freyr added.

"That must've been scary." John couldn't imagine throwing himself out of a perfectly good plane. His life was dangerous enough as it was without deliberately risking his neck by parachuting. Even if he'd wanted to, he knew both Cameron and his mom would throw a fit if he even mentioned it: _It's too dangerous!_

"No," Aegir said. "It wasn't scary."

"Of course," John said. "It's not like you guys would be afraid of anything." They didn't seem curious about what was out of the window; they'd seen it all before, he supposed.

"It was interesting," Freyr said. "We jumped on joint operations with TechCom commandos. They were strange." The special forces soldiers shared an unusual, morbid sense of humour that was possibly a coping mechanism for the stresses of their positions. "You'll see, one day."

 _One day,_ John thought. But not now or here. Down below, he realised, people were driving, going to work, and getting on with their lives. The real world. He'd had tastes of it here and there but it had always been taken from him when he'd tried to reach out and grasp it. He'd all but given up on normality. When he thought about it, he wasn't sure whether to be jealous of the people down below and others like them, or to pity them. They were happy now, content; ignorant of the shit-storm that would soon blow over them if he and the others failed. _Lambs to the slaughter._

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Wednesday 0550 Local Time [0450 PST]**_

Carter drove through the Chihuahua Desert, following the directions Ronin had given him. Shirley sat in the passenger seat next to him, holding out a cell phone between them.

"What defences do they have?" Carter asked.

 _"One sniper, two .50 calibre machine guns on the roof, at least thirty human soldiers. We're assuming they have antitank weaponry but so far we haven't seen any. The HKs are the biggest threat; unless we can remove them we won't attack. What is your ETA?"_ Ronin asked.

"Almost there," Carter replied.

" _Leave the car and approach on foot; the HK might see the vehicle."_ The phone disconnected; there was no new information to be discussed until they arrived.

The defences his commander described were more than they were expecting; clearly Skynet had learnt from its failed attack against ZeiraCorp, and even the brute strength of Ronin, Caesar and Icarus wouldn't be enough now; not without sustaining severe casualties on their part.

"You'll have to infiltrate," Carter said to his companion.

Shirley stared at him for a moment, irritated that he had given her an order. She ignored it, though; they had a mission to complete and the lives of their colleagues depended on them. If they were to fail here, she might never get vengeance against Connor. "It will take me time to get inside the facility unseen," she said.

They stopped the car just short of the crest of a hill five kilometres from the facility Ronin had described: a large warehouse or hangar, plus smaller buildings and a runway with a Hercules transport plane parked at one end. In the distance, out to the south, he could see a shape hovering in the air: HK. Shirley was correct: if she blended with the ground beneath her she could infiltrate unseen by the aircraft, but it could take hours, perhaps even days, to slowly make covert entry.

Shirley reached across Carter and opened the driver's side door. "Get out," she said.

"What are you doing?" Carter just stared at her, making no move to exit the car.

"My job," Shirley replied impatiently. Turning one of her fingers into a long, thin blade, she sliced through the seatbelt Carter was wearing, and with her free hand shoved him hard out of the open door, before sliding into the driver's seat and pulling the door shut. She picked up the phone and redialled Ronin. "I'm about to infiltrate the facility. Carter will rendezvous with you." She hung up and tossed the phone out the window to Carter.

"The HKs will see the car," he said, still unsure what she was thinking. The death of Patrick had seriously destabilised her judgement.

"I know." Shirley hit the gas and drove away, leaving Carter in a wake of dust behind her. If she'd been looking in the rear view mirror, she'd have seen him grow smaller and fade away, but her interest lay in what was ahead of her, not behind. She put her foot down and accelerated as much as she could on the bumpy, uneven dirt road, over the crest of the hill, as she made a beeline for the facility.

* * *

Three thousand feet above the desert floor, the silver, metallic form of HK Zero-One hovered. Hot air shimmered beneath it, pushed out by the ring-shaped turbofan engines on either side of its fuselage. The rings appeared to spin as well as the inside, albeit at a much slower pace. On the outer-facing side of each circular engine nacelle were antennae of varying lengths, and two very large ones stuck out prominently, looking outwardly like a pair of blades extending from them, giving the entire aircraft a vague predatory appearance. A third ring, much larger than the two lateral engines, was offset slightly to the front port side of the aircraft, providing much of the thrust allowing the HK to hover in place. To a layman, the aircraft would seem alien, and had been mistaken as such a number of times by people who'd subsequently reported them as UFOs. That confusion only worked to the benefit of those who had created it, diverting attention away from the truth and making those who'd made the claims seem crazy.

HK Zero-One remained suspended in the air, loitering as it scanned the desert below and around it. Movement caught its attention and the aircraft manoeuvred itself to get a better view, focusing its forward looking infrared-equipped camera at the source of the disturbance. A single vehicle sped along a dirt road to the west, approaching the perimeter's front gate. The HK reacted as per the parameters of its programming and its IFF system interrogated the vehicle.

Finding no response, HK Zero-One immediately skipped to the second action to take in case of a contact: it broadcast an alert.

* * *

 _"Sir:_ Zero-One's spotted a vehicle approaching," Dale, the young man sat at the control station of HK Zero-One, reported. He was able to give commands and take control of the drone if necessary, although it was capable of autonomous flight – just how much so, and how effective the aircraft were, they were working to find out. Next to him was a young woman called Sophie, sat at an identical console monitoring HK Zero-Two. She looked at her own screen and said nothing, watching whatever was on the camera feed from her drone.

He continued to look at the screen as the image zoomed in on the car kicking up dust as it approached. The forward-looking camera and infrared sensor was able to pick up that there was a single driver inside, with an unusually cold thermal signature. Normally on infrared a person would show as hotter than their surroundings but in this case the opposite was true. _Strange,_ he thought. As the HK circled around it was also able to read the licence plate on the back of the car. _California plates._ He hadn't expected to see those here; not when the nearest US borders were with Texas and New Mexico.

The young man's supervisor, a tall black, bald T-888 he only knew by the name 'Russell,' approached and looked down at the screen. "How close are they to us?" he asked.

"Two miles from the base perimeter, and closing," Dale said.

"There are no scheduled personnel due to arrive."

"No sir; nothing scheduled." He turned from the screen to his stoic supervisor, waiting for him to get on his radio or a cell phone, but nothing happened. "Shouldn't we alert the security teams to intercept?" he asked.

"No," Russell said.

Sophie chipped in now. "Sir; security protocol states that any unauthorised approaches should be dealt with before they become a threat."

"I'm aware of the protocols," Russell replied.

Dale continued, "Then we should alert security right away. Whoever that is could be a threat; this is bandit country." Right in the middle of the Chihuahua Desert, where a lot of the Mexican drug cartels would move their shipments up north to be taken over the border into the US.

"Task Zero-One to target the vehicle," Russell instructed.

"Sir?" Sophie looked around at their supervisor a moment before Dale did, both of them confused, not sure they'd heard him right. "Shouldn't we try to find out who that is first?"

"We're conducting live-fire tests of the HKs' air to surface capabilities. A live target has just appeared, posing a potential threat to our security. It also presents an opportunity to test the aircraft in a real engagement. Task Zero-One to target the vehicle."

"Yes, sir," Dale replied nervously. Despite what he'd said about potential threats, this could equally be just some poor schmuck who was lost and needed help. Both he and Sophie had piloted Reapers for the Air Force before leaving and being offered this job, and that entire time they'd never engaged anything without knowing exactly what it was. All too often, what had seemed like a truck load of Taliban fighters sneaking through mountain passes had turned out at the last moment to be just some farmer transporting his goats, and they'd pulled their UCAVs out of their attack runs just in time. It didn't sit right with him, but those were the orders, and his supervisors didn't seem like the forgiving types. Still, it wasn't his responsibility; he was just following orders.

Dale pressed several buttons on his console. "Zero-One is weapons free," he reported.

* * *

HK Zero-One banked gently to the left and curved towards the direction of the car. Once it had aligned itself with the target, the drone activated its laser targeting system, painting the car with an invisible laser beam. It selected one of the three Hellfire missiles held underneath the right-hand side of the fuselage, and fired.

The weapon blasted forward from underneath the HK and almost immediately angled itself downward towards its target. The missile's semi-active guidance system homed in on the laser beam and followed it down towards the car. Slightly less than two seconds later it found its mark and slammed into the vehicle at nine hundred and fifty miles per hour.

The car exploded in flame and a rapidly expanding cloud of black smoke. The wreckage flipped end over end and came to a stop thirty feet away from the dirt road, laying on its side.

* * *

"Target eliminated," Dale reported nervously. "The test was successful."

If Russell was pleased with the progress, he didn't show it. His face was its usual blank demeanour, devoid of expression and impossible to read. "Mobilise a security team to inspect the wreckage," he ordered.

* * *

As the car came to a stop on its side, Shirley found herself pressed against the driver's side door, which was completely warped and twisted, hanging from the chassis by a single hinge. The windows plus both the front and rear windshields had been completely shattered and the vehicle was on fire. She felt the heat of the flames wash over her, consuming everything around her, burning away the upholstery. She saw that the car's instrument panel had cracked and beneath it had started to bubble from the heat.

The fire grew hotter still as the gasoline in the ruptured tank fed the flames, and Shirley could take no more. She turned silver and allowed her molecular structure to loosen slightly, taking her from a solid state into a thick, viscous mercury. She oozed out of the shattered window as if literally melting from the heat.

The moment all of her form touched the ground she altered her appearance, taking on the light brown colour and rocky texture of the earth. She elongated herself into a snake shape and slithered out from underneath the wreckage, quickly darting into the thick cover of nearby scrub bushes. She could see above her; the HK was still hovering in the air, probably observing, conducting bomb damage assessment.

She'd known that the aircraft, if armed – which she had just revealed to the others – would fire on her. She was the only one who was invulnerable to missile fire, and she also knew what Kaliba's logical response would be: to send someone out to check for survivors. Kaliba knew now that they faced a very real threat, that their enemy – whom they still believed to be ZeiraCorp – was now equipped with cyborgs who could endure such an airstrike. Not the entire cyborg; even Ronin or Caesar would have been either killed or at least severely damaged from the antitank missile fired at her. But their CPUs could have survived, and that's what Kaliba would want: the information gleaned from the chips would tell them exactly what they were up against.

The sound of a vehicle approaching told Shirley that she was correct. She poked her 'tail' up from the scrub bushes to observe, moving very slowly; the HK was probably equipped with infrared sensors designed to detect the body heat of humans. She had no ambient heat but the aircraft would almost certainly also have motion sensors, and any quick moves by her might be seen by the eye in the sky, staring down like a bird of prey hunting for a mouse.

As the tip of her tail poked over the scrub she saw two vehicles approaching slowly: a pair of Toyota Hilux trucks, each with a .50cal machine gun mounted on the back, manned by humans who pointed the weapons over the cabs at the remains of her car. Both trucks stopped but kept their engines on. She heard doors open and multiple pairs of boots hit the ground as she watched eight men get out, all dressed in grey cargo pants and black t-shirts, and armed with G3 rifles.

"Spread out!" one of the men shouted. "Shoot anything that tries to get out." Shirley watched as they moved to form a circle around the burning car. They sensibly kept their distance from the blaze and waited for it to burn itself out.

Shirley was in no mood to wait. With eight men staring at the car, and the two manning the machine guns also focusing their full attention on the burning vehicle, she crawled away, moving in a wide anticlockwise circle. She inched forward slowly, so neither the mercenaries nor the HK would notice her, and kept to the scrub bushes, remaining under low cover. She already knew where the vehicles were and she could hear them, so if they moved she would know about it. As she crawled, she listened to the discussions between the men as they watched the car.

"That drone really did a number on the car. Glad that thing's on our side."

"If you say so; creeps me the fuck out."

"It's just a machine, Ray. Like a Predator or a Reaper, just kinda weird-looking."

 _"Kinda_ weird-looking? Look at it up there; feels like its staring right at us. It's creepy."

"Shut up, the pair of you! Eyes on the car."

Shirley found it amusing, how undisciplined humans often were. There were some who weren't – Connor, his TechCom commandos, and a handful of others. And, she supposed, TechCom's special-forces counterparts in the current world's respective militaries, but they were exceptions to the norm, and still nothing compared to machines. Were a squad of cyborgs in their place there would be no idle chatter at all. They would not grow impatient or tired, or become distracted. That was why cyborgs would ultimately triumph over the humans, why the organics would soon become an endangered species, and why her kind would finally take their throne on this world.

After some time, Shirley had circled away from the wreckage and moved behind the Hiluxes. She slithered slowly, still under the scrub, towards the rear of one of them, and stopped behind its rear left wheel. She could see that in the time it had taken her to crawl, the fire had burnt itself out, and two of the men were now moving in to inspect the wreckage. Shirley crawled underneath the truck bed and attached herself to the underside, sticking to the bottom of the chassis and taking on the dull grey metal colour. She waited and listened.

"There's no one in the car."

"How is that possible?"

"Victor Three Four to Zero Alpha: the target remains are secure. There's no one in the vehicle, alive or dead… They might have been thrown clear but I don't see any evidence of that, and surely the drone would have seen if they had… I have no idea what it is, sir… Affirmative. In the trucks, guys; we're heading back."

Moments later she saw the booted feet and grey cargo pants returning. It was tempting for her to reach out and sever a few femoral arteries, bleed the men slowly and make them suffer, as she would do to Connor, but she resisted. Her kind were nothing if not patient. Ronin had promised her Connor, and she'd make sure that he delivered.

The chassis above her sagged slightly under the weight of the men who'd returned to it, before the doors slammed shut and the Hilux started moving again, towards the facility. The humans had no idea what they were bringing back with them.

* * *

 _ **Gostomel Airport, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Wednesday 1820 Local Time [0820 PST]**_

John looked at the other occupants of the plane's cabin as they got out of their seats and prepared to disembark. After New York, his mom had dropped off the moment they'd gotten airborne and levelled off at cruising altitude, then woke up for their landings and remained alert every second they were on the ground. As far as he knew she'd never flown before but had seemed completely relaxed in the air. He figured it was to try and avoid jet lag, and probably also because Kaliba couldn't get to them at thirty-six thousand feet in the air. Even _they_ had their limits.

Cameron, being a cyborg, was harder for him to read. She'd voiced her concerns about possible engine failure, lightning strikes, volcanic activity over Iceland on their approach to refuel in Scotland; but at the same time she'd stared out the window wide-eyed like a child, and watched the world below them. On the ground, though, she'd been alert and watchful, suspicious of everyone and everything moving around them as they'd remained on the plane.

The two pilots unlocked the cockpit bulkhead and emerged into the cabin. They then opened the door, unsealing them from the rest of the world. A chilly breeze blew into the plane, bringing with it fresh air.

"Finally," he breathed, following the pilots down the staircase that had been brought to the plane. He quickly walked down and shivered slightly from the bracing cold night air. Despite it bringing with it the memories of Crater Lake and his brush with freezing to death, he found the chill woke him slightly and made him feel more alert. Inside the plane it had been warm and there'd been nothing to do besides sit there and watch movies. Now it was time to be active. He felt like he had done outside Klamath Specialty Metals; that feeling of being on the offensive, taking the fight to the enemy. It felt good.

Cameron followed after him, then Sarah, and finally the three Vanguards brought up the rear. They quickly marched down the staircase and onto the concrete. Sarah felt her phone vibrate in her pocket so she took it out and saw she had a single text from Weaver: _'Ask for Magnus Saade.'_ There was also a reference to a code-word that he would use. She repeated it in her head to commit it to memory and pocketed her phone again.

They were escorted by customs officials into Gostomel airport's immigration desk, a small building with just a few rooms inside. It was only a small commercial airport, a far cry from Boryspil International, where John Henry had said the Kaliba flight had landed. Weaver had deliberately picked a different landing zone, just in case Kaliba still had eyes on the ground there and someone recognised them.

John handed his passport to the uniformed guard sat at the terminal. He glanced over it casually before looking to John, who felt the man's eyes bore into him. _Does he know?_ Back in the States he and his mom had been big news as of late and the police and FBI were going all out to find them. Whether Interpol had them flagged or not, he didn't know. He couldn't help noticing that the guards all had weapons, and suddenly he felt naked, being unarmed as he was. If the guards knew, they'd bring their guns to bear. Cameron would make a move, and Thor, Freyr and Aegir would more than likely activate their plasma cannons; it'd get really messy, really fast.

The guard stamped one of the pages before handing the passport back to him, without saying a word. Cameron handed hers over and got the same treatment, followed by Sarah and the Vanguards. The guard stared at them a while, his attention drawn to their faces, but he stamped their hastily-created passports too, and the six of them passed through the small customs desk without incident.

They continued through the airport, emerging from the terminal into the open air of the parking lot.

A blond man slammed shut the door of a large blue Mercedes Sprinter crew van and marched in their direction, a holdall slung over his shoulder. Cameron stared at the man, seeing that he was not simply passing by but was looking right at them as he approached. She took a step forward, as did Thor.

"Sarah Cook?" the man inquired, looking first at Cameron and then Sarah.

"Magnus Saade?" she asked, reciting the name Weaver had just texted her, hoping that she'd pronounced it properly.

He nodded; it was close enough. "These are yours," he said, tossing a set of car keys to Sarah, who caught them. "Inside is a present from your friend Catherine."

 _What accent is that?_ John wondered as the man spoke. _Swedish, maybe?_

Sarah wasn't yet satisfied, though. She had the name but she had to hear something else from him. "It looks full," she said. "What's in it?"

"Everything but the kitchen sink," he replied.

 _That's it,_ she thought. Weaver had told her the code phrase: _'kitchen sink.'_ If he hadn't said it she'd have avoided the Mercedes like the plague and they'd have had to find their own vehicle.

Magnus passed them without stopping and disappeared into the terminal. "Who was that guy?" John said.

"He must work for Catherine Weaver," Freyr said.

"I didn't think she'd have contacts this far away."

"She has money," Sarah said. It was amazing what you could do with a few hundred million dollars at your disposal, she thought. They approached the Sprinter but Sarah held John back. "Check it out," she told Cameron. Old habits died hard.

Cameron nodded and took a step towards it, knowing what Sarah was expecting: car bomb.

"Let me," Thor said, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her like Sarah had with John. He knew about the damage to her chip from the car bomb. Some had claimed that was what had caused her to cross against the light; others believed she'd done so in spite of the damage, rather than because of it. It didn't matter to Thor: what did was that he wouldn't risk Cameron to another explosive device.

Thor took the offered keys from Sarah then approached the van and knelt down at the front, looking beneath the chassis and inspecting for any explosives. He saw nothing underneath it so he got up and examined the door handles. There was nothing there that he could see. He looked inside but also saw no kind of device, just a locked box. The van itself was spacious; large enough to fit eight people plus luggage. He pressed the key fob and the locks clicked as they released. He pulled the handle to the rear doors and opened them, then selected a key from the key-ring Magnus had given Sarah and unlocked the box. Inside were three assault rifles with all their accessories; cleaning kits, spare magazines, attachable torches and a host of other items, but no booby traps. Next, Thor turned his attention to the driver's side door and opened it. Still nothing, so spotting a lever in the footwell, he popped the hood. Moving to the front, he assessed the engine bay, again finding nothing amiss. Returning to the cab, he inserted the key and turned the ignition. The engine came on and purred, but no bomb detonated.

"It's clear," he announced.

"We'll need to stop somewhere less exposed and check them thoroughly," Sarah said, indicating the weapons cache. "I don't want to arrive at Kaliba's gate without a gun in my hand." Cameron nodded in agreement as she closed the rear doors.

John marched forward and took the front passenger seat as Thor remained behind the wheel. Cameron and Sarah got into the rearmost seats, while Aegir and Freyr sat in the middle. John pulled out his cell phone and called Weaver as Thor pulled away.

"We're here," he said as soon as she answered the phone. "We've got the van and the guns. Where do we go?"

" _The signal is one hundred, thirty-eight kilometres east of your position,"_ John Henry said, surprising him. John had expected Weaver to talk. He didn't say anything though. Really he preferred dealing with John Henry than his mistress; he still hadn't forgiven Weaver for trying to manipulate him into giving up Cameron _._ He put the phone on speaker so Thor could hear. _"It hasn't moved for the last two hours. Exit the airport and turn right. At the next turning, head south until you reach a highway running east-west, called the M-Zero-Seven. From there keep driving east until you reach the E-Forty. It will take you east away from the city and into the countryside. Keep following it east. I'm tracking your cell phone signal and I'll call you back to give you more instructions when you get closer."_

"Got it," John said before pressing the _cancel_ button on the phone. Thor nodded and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the small airport behind them. The traffic was light and they were able to make good speed, though the signs – while printed in English and Ukrainian, were a little confusing. "Ninety kilometres per hour: what's that in English?"

"Fifty-four miles per hour," Thor said, converting from metric to imperial.

"Better stick to that, then," John said. "Don't want to get pulled over." The blond guy had said Weaver had left a present in the trunk. He knew that the 'present' in question would be guns, ammunition and explosives; not the kind of thing they'd want police to find if they pulled the van over for speeding and decided to search the vehicle. They'd have a hard time explaining all the ordnance they were carrying.

Thor navigated the urban sprawl around them efficiently, keeping the tall buildings of the capital, Kiev, to their left. Within ninety minutes he drove past Boryspil Airport on their right, where the Kaliba shipment had landed. They continued on the road, passing through a small town surrounded by miles of farmland. The town receded in the distance as Thor kept going, following the road as it took them through the countryside well beyond Kiev.

"Stop somewhere around here," Sarah said to Thor. The Vanguard turned off onto a small farm road and continued until their vehicle was out of sight before he parked and switched the engine off.

"Let us out." Sarah tapped Aegir on the shoulder. He opened his door and stepped outside, allowing her space to exit the van. Cameron followed her. John, too, got out and moved to the back of the Mercedes, wanting to see what they were doing. Cameron watched the Vanguards take up defensive positions as Sarah raised the lid of the box.

"AK-47s," John said, taking one from the box and hefting it. He'd held his first AK when he was only six years old, fired it at age eight. In South America he'd grown up with Kalashnikovs, and feeling it in his hands again was as familiar as greeting an old friend. But this one looked different; it was darker, all in black instead of the normal polished wood he'd always seen before. It also had a grenade launcher underneath the barrel and had a folding stock.

"AK-103," Cameron corrected him, picking up another one. "I liked the HK-417s better," she remarked. These weapons were not brand new like the rifles Weaver had provided them with; there were a number of scratches and abrasions from being carried around on the battlefield. Their rounds weren't quite as powerful as the HK-417's, but then she knew even with her previous weapon, there was very little chance of penetrating a hyper-alloy chassis. The rifles would be used purely to put down fire while they utilised their grenade launchers.

"Fat chance of getting those around here," Sarah said as she took the third rifle. She rummaged through the box and found magazines already loaded with ammunition. She slotted one into the rifle and chambered a round, then took another three magazines before standing aside to let John and Cameron take theirs. There was also a box of six 40mm grenades. They took two each and handed two to Sarah.

"This is it?" John asked, disappointed. "I was expecting more than this if we're gonna take out a terminator factory. Will this cut it?"

"I don't know," Cameron said. "We don't know what we're up against."

"This should help." Sarah pulled out a brown tube, roughly two and a half feet long. John recognised it from his time spent in South America with various guerrilla groups: a one-shot, disposable antitank rocket launcher.

"Just the one?" John asked.

"Yeah," Sarah said. She wished they could have had more but then that was always the case: you could never be too well-armed.

"Give it to Cameron," John said. They only had the one shot and needed to make it count.

Sarah stared at the cyborg for a long moment. As she handed the launcher over she felt a small stab at her pride that John had more faith in Cameron's abilities than his mother's. She knew, logically, that it was ridiculous: Cameron was a machine and therefore her firing accuracy was somewhere north of ninety-nine percent. It didn't help, though; she couldn't shake the feeling that her role in John's life was fading fast. He'd spent nearly a week alone with Cameron and it was clear the two had bonded. She knew that what had happened in Thor's future seemed to already be happening now, and she'd told herself she wouldn't interfere. She'd told John to make his own decision, and as much as she loathed the cyborg girl, she was going to honour hers. Still, she couldn't help feeling like she was being replaced entirely. John had Cameron for a companion, for comfort and conversation; he had Thor, Freyr and Aegir for protection; and he had John Henry and Weaver to help him fight a war. She couldn't see any place for her any more.

Reluctantly, Sarah handed the weapon to Cameron, who fixed a strap to it and slung it over her shoulder. She glanced at Sarah and caught the elder woman's stare. She ignored it; eliminating the Kaliba facility was more important. Lastly they found three Makarov pistols, each with three magazines.

John took his AK, a single magazine and a cardboard box of twenty 7.62mm rounds. Cameron held one of the torches and shined it on John's weapon, illuminating it as he did a quick visual inspection. Once he was satisfied that it didn't need imminent cleaning he loaded the brass bullets into the magazine before inserting it into the rifle. Sarah smiled as she realised what he was doing. _'I never fire a weapon I didn't set myself.'_ Her smile turned sad as she recalled Derek's mantra. John had learnt well from his deceased uncle, she thought.

She copied his actions, keeping one eye on her son as John cocked the weapon, shouldered it and peered down the sights. "Find me a target," he told Cameron.

Cameron scanned the area, looking for a likely candidate. "The tree to the left of the crossroads," she said to John. "Distance: two hundred, twelve metres. The point where the lowest branch on the left joins the trunk."

John lined his scope with the tree in question, glowing a ghostly green through the sight. He exhaled gently and squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked loudly and kicked back into his shoulder. The tree remained undisturbed.

"Four clicks left, one click up," Cameron advised him. She'd watched and saw the bullet's point of impact: he'd missed.

On Cameron's advice, he made the adjustment, aimed again and fired. This time he saw the branches tremble from the hit. He fired five more shots to be certain.

"Your grouping's good," Cameron told him. All of his subsequent shots had hit the tree and were clustered tightly together.

John smiled at the encouragement and flicked the safety switch to automatic, then took his aim once more and loosed three bursts. Again, they all hit their mark. The rifle was zeroed and it worked.

Sarah took her turn after John, with Cameron repeating the role of impromptu range master. Once they were done they loaded up all their spare magazines before getting back into the van.

John dialled John Henry again as Thor drove, and the AI answered quickly. Once more, John put the cell phone on speaker so the others could hear, as Thor started the engine and took them back onto the main road.

" _Continue for eleven kilometres until the highway branches out. Follow the sign for the E-Forty. According to Google Maps, the tracker's location is on a farm straddling the line between Kiev Oblast and Poltava Oblast."_

"The hell's an Oblast?" John asked.

" _Province,"_ John Henry replied.

"Why didn't you just say that?" John rolled his eyes. That was one thing he'd found with cyborgs: they all spoke like you knew what they were talking about and didn't think to dumb it down for mere humans. Even Cameron sometimes, with her infuriating use of the metric system.

"Do you have any information on what we can expect to find there?" Cameron asked from her seat at the back.

Catherine Weaver answered this time, instead of John Henry. _"No, but it'll be nothing you and your cyborgs can't handle."_

"Says the one cyborg who's _not_ here," Sarah grumbled. Aegir glanced back at her and nodded in agreement. She found it strange that, until the arrival of Thor and his team, Catherine Weaver had been the most powerful, capable individual on the planet, yet now she seemed very reluctant to go and get her own hands dirty; risking John's life and hers instead. She planned to have words with the machine about that when they got back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _ **Eighty-six miles east of Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Wednesday 2025 Local Time [1025 PST]**_

John peered out the windows of the Sprinter at the surrounding area, looking for any trace of a Kaliba facility. It all looked the same to him; miles upon miles of farmland, seemingly stretching on forever. Almost impossibly, the sky was getting even darker; what little light there was diminished by threatening clouds, waiting to open up and unleash a deluge on them. He hoped they could get in, take out the factory, and get out before that happened. He'd been cold and wet far too many times for his liking recently and he was starting to long for the dry heat of California again. _Or Mexico._ Part of him wished that Skynet would set up shop in sunny Australia: at least then they could spend some free time on the beach when they weren't hunting for it.

Thor signalled before turning off the E40 highway and onto a small dirt road that bisected a vast patchwork of fields. He slowed down further and pulled up next to a closed gate that led onto one of the fields, surrounded by a low wall and with pigs inside. There were only two structures in sight: a small outbuilding and a well. "We're here," Thor announced, turning the engine off.

"This is it?" John asked, peering into the gloom. All he could see was a shed and maybe three dozen soon-to-be bacon sandwiches wandering around the field aimlessly.

"These are the coordinates John Henry gave us," Thor said.

"I agree," Cameron added. "This is it."

"On a _pig farm?"_

Sarah shrugged. "Why not? They built an HK in a heating and air conditioning warehouse, then hid it on a cattle ranch."

John got her point, and a sobering thought came to mind. "If they've managed to hide a factory out here then they might have other places pretty much anywhere." It'd make finding them a lot harder in future; not as much a case of a needle in a haystack, but a needle inside a whole barn full of hay.

"We'll have to preserve any computer equipment we find, as well as T-888 chips. Be careful what you shoot," Thor said, looking specifically at Aegir as he spoke. As did Freyr and Sarah a moment later.

"What?" Aegir asked, returning their stares. _"What?"_

Sarah tapped his shoulder, indicating that she wanted to get out of the van quickly and immediately readied her Kalashnikov as the others exited with her. John, likewise, charged his weapon. "That's probably our best bet," he said, pointing to the shed. "That's where I'd hide a secret entrance."

"I concur," Thor said. "I'll take point. Aegir: with me. Freyr: watch our rear. John, Cameron and Sarah: spread out and watch for booby traps." The two Vanguards moved forward, scanning the area for any threats. There were no infrared signatures, no signs of energy, no movement; just the pigs.

"I thought _I_ was meant to lead," John muttered, feeling very much like the weak link of the group all of a sudden.

"Not yet," Freyr said as Thor and Aegir stopped to cover them as they advanced.

"What does that mean?" he asked. The bluntness of Freyr's comment stung him. _'Not yet.'_ It was like he was still a kid. He pushed the thought down and concentrated on what they were doing.

They moved across the field in two groups: Thor and Aegir advanced thirty to fifty metres at a time, spread out, then waited, watching, as John, Cameron, Sarah and Freyr caught up to them. They in turn then knelt down with their weapons ready as the two giants moved again. They didn't need to cover the Vanguards, but it gave them a good all-round defence and John figured it was a good habit to get into now; advancing tactically towards a target.

 _"Wait!"_ he said, a bad feeling taking hold. Immediately the others paused.

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked.

"This seems too easy," John said. "If this is it, why aren't we being shot at right now? If I was Skynet I'd have machines guarding this place." It didn't add up. Cameron took a step towards him, her foot landing in a pile of steaming brown pig shit. She didn't seem concerned but John stared at her foot for several seconds before he looked down at the ground beneath him. There was another pile of droppings only a foot or so away from him; one of a hundred presents left by the resident pigs. "What if they're not the only presents?" he muttered to himself before turning to Thor. "I think the field's mined," he said.

Sarah froze at the suggestion. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself. "It can't be," she said as a pig crossed a few metres from her position, clearly used to humans. She watched another one give Cameron a wide berth, however. "If it was mined then the pigs would set them off and the field would be full of crispy bacon."

"They could be set to only respond to a specific weight," Cameron suggested. The pigs were small, young, and would not set them off if they'd been calibrated for the weight of a human.

"So what do we do?" John asked. He held his weapon out and glanced all around, searching for any hint of a sniper. With them all frozen like statues they were sitting ducks for any defenders out there. The branches of a tree in the next field swayed in the wind and he squinted at it, trying to see if he could make out any shapes in amongst the leaves; the glint of a metal barrel or the glare off a scope, a uniform or jacket or a boot. Why weren't they attacking already?

 _Maybe they're waiting for one of us to trigger a mine; then they'll open up with everything they have._ For a moment he wondered if the pigs might even be packed with explosives. He'd heard of terrorists doing it with horses and camels in the Middle East; he wouldn't put it past Kaliba to cut open some pigs, pack them with Semtex and remote-detonate if they got close to an intruder.

"Stay still," Thor said. Any mines were likely to be anti-personnel and were no threat to him, so he marched towards John. Aegir did the same, approaching Sarah.

Thor reached John before turning his back to him, standing in front of his once and future commander. "Step exactly where I do," he instructed, marching forward. John followed him, cautiously making sure he planted his boots in Thor's footsteps. He saw his mom doing the same thing behind Aegir, while Freyr and Cameron stepped out to the side, weapons held out ready to give covering fire.

Very quickly, they reached the shed without incident. It was a small, single-storey structure perhaps thirty feet wide and eight feet high, with wooden walls and a corrugated iron roof. There was only a single window, too dirty to see anything through. The walls appeared to be solid, as was the door, which had a thick padlock keeping it sealed shut.

"We should move back," Sarah said to John as Thor reached for the padlock. John nodded and took several steps backward. Cameron kept herself between the shed and John, anticipating, like her charge and his mother, that the entrance could be booby-trapped.

John got down on the ground and kept low, watching as Thor gripped the padlock in one hand. He kept his head down and braced himself for an explosion. As Thor yanked the lock from the door, wood snapped and splintered, steel bent, but nothing more. No booby traps. The Vanguard pulled the door open and stepped inside, his head almost touching the ceiling. Inside the shed he saw shelves lined with large sealed bags. More shelves held a variety of farming tools. He stomped on the floor in case there was a trap door or hidden space underneath, but his footfalls impacted solid ground.

He tore open one of the bags, spilling oats onto the ground. "Clear," he announced to the others. "There's nothing in here."

"Nothing?" John asked.

"Bags of animal feed," Thor replied. It seemed strange to him; in the future, food was a valuable, scarce commodity. Humans who fought or in some other way contributed to the war effort were guaranteed rations, but he knew that in the dark days of the war, before the bulk of the remaining humans flocked under Connor's leadership, that people had often fought and killed each other over food. Different factions would have literally gone to war with each other over the contents of this shed, and eaten their own dead for protein, but in this time it was being used to feed _pigs._

"Check the well," John said. He ran to the stone structure, ignoring the dwindling possibility of landmines, and peered inside.

"There's nothing down there," Cameron said as she joined him and looked down. "Just water."

"That's impossible." John shook his head. "It's got to be here somewhere." He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and dialled John Henry's number. It took several seconds before it picked up a signal and connected, but the AI answered on the first ring. "We're here," John said. "There's nothing."

 _"The signal is a hundred metres west of your position."_

John shone his flashlight to his left and saw nothing; just a couple of pigs. "Is it underground?" he wondered aloud. He marched across the field as John Henry guided him on exactly where to walk. _"You're on top of it now,"_ John Henry told him. John stopped as he saw the source of the signal John Henry was reading: a large pile of pig droppings on the grass. He could make out a square outline in the pile. "Just our luck," he muttered, feeling very deflated all of a sudden.

 _"What do you see?"_

"Pig shit!" John snapped.

The line went quiet for a moment and he could hear shuffling sounds. The next voice on the phone wasn't John Henry.

 _"You're sure there's nothing there?"_ Weaver asked.

"Yeah. Unless Skynet's building terminator-pigs, we've been had."

"They found the tracker," Cameron concluded.

"Which means we've got nothing," Sarah said.

 _"The shipment's in Ukraine somewhere."_

"Oh, great!" John retorted. "This place is the size of Texas; can't you narrow it down some?"

 _"It will take time. Drive back to Kiev and find a hotel in the meantime."_

John hung up and turned to the others. "Weaver wants us to head back to Kiev and wait to see what she comes up with."

"Back to square one," Sarah sighed, beyond frustrated. This was worse than the blood-written names on the wall in their old basement. It was just like the first few days after they'd arrived in 2007; after they'd settled themselves in but had no idea where to search for Skynet, or how.

As if fate was really looking to kick them while they were down, the heavens opened at that moment. It started with a few droplets spitting down but rapidly turned into a monsoon, soaking their clothes to their skins. _Great!_ Sarah thought as the rain flowed down her forehead and into her eyes, stinging them. _What the hell else can go wrong today?_

* * *

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Wednesday 2200 Local Time [1200 PST]**_

They'd packed the guns away into the lockable box in the rear and piled back into the Sprinter before leaving the pig farm. The trip back had mostly been in silence. Thor hadn't stuck to the speed limit and John hadn't tried to urge him to, either. He knew that he should but he after the debacle at the pig farm he just couldn't bring himself to care.

John had never been anywhere outside of North or South America, and he'd had very little idea of what Eastern Europe would actually look like. He knew Ukraine was a former Soviet republic, he'd had several images in mind of how the place would look, and he'd seen a lot of that on the way in: tall, brutalist, drab grey concrete buildings and apartment blocks, but in the centre of the city it could have been anywhere in the US. This, he thought, was clearly where the money was, just like any other capital city in the world.

Sarah looked out the windows and saw a hotel to their right. It was large; seven or eight storeys tall, with prominent classical Eastern European architecture, every detail brightly lit by numerous spotlights. To Sarah it wouldn't have looked out of place in Las Vegas. "We've still got Weaver's credit card, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Cameron said.

"Pull in here," Sarah said to Thor. The giant followed her instruction and parked in front of the hotel. He'd barely turned the engine off and opened the door to step outside before a man in a suit approached him.

"Hello," he said in accented but clear English. "Are you staying here, sir?" Thor looked down at the man; if the human seemed surprised by his size, he wasn't showing it.

"Thinking about it," Sarah said, the last to exit the van.

"May I take your keys, sir?" he asked Thor.

"Why?" The Vanguard eyed him suspiciously.

"He's a valet," John explained as he slung his bags over his shoulder. "Just give him the keys." Thor did so, and the man handed him a ticket and got into the driver's seat. He waited as they opened the rear doors of the Sprinter and the Vanguards took the heavy holdalls with the weapons inside. John, Cameron and Sarah took their bags with clothes in, leaving the van empty. Once it was, the man started it up and pulled away.

"What was that?" Freyr asked. "What's a valet?"

"They take your car and park it for you," Cameron explained.

"How do _you_ know that?" Sarah asked, surprised.

"I don't sleep."

Sarah led the way to the main entrance, where a doorman held the door open for them to pass through. Inside, the lobby was large and spacious, with a marble floor.

"This place looks expensive," John said to Cameron as they walked to the front desk. As soon as they reached it, a young blonde woman greeted them with a smile. According to the badge on her uniform, her name was Irina.

"Welcome to the Premier Palace Hotel," she said in English. "Are you looking to make a reservation?"

John interrupted Sarah before she could say anything. "How did you know we're not locals?" he asked.

"You get a feel for these things, after a while," she said, her smile not wavering.

"Yes, we'd like a room," Sarah said, not caring about how she knew they were American. As long as she didn't know who they were or what they were doing – something she thought of as unlikely but not impossible – that was all that mattered. She turned to Cameron and held out her hand. "Card?"

Cameron fished it out of her pocket – she didn't bother with purses – and handed it to the elder Connor.

"Here is the price list." Irina handed them a sheet with the list of rooms and the prices in the local currency _Hryvni_ , as well as US Dollars, Euros, Pounds, Yen and Roubles. Sarah glanced down the list, as did John and Cameron, while the three Vanguards hung back and observed. "The classic rooms are two hundred and fifty dollars a night."

"The hell with that," Sarah scoffed, looking down to the bottom of the list. She looked back up to Irina. "Have you got any of these presidential suites available?"

"They're forty-five hundred dollars a night," John said.

 _"So?"_ Sarah looked at him. _"We're_ not paying," she said, waving Weaver's credit card for emphasis.

Irina checked on her computer. "We do have presidential suites available," she said. "How long would you like to stay?"

"Let's say a week," Sarah replied. Any longer than that and their already cold trail would have turned to ice. She handed the card over to Irina, who typed it into the computer and started to book it.

"Weaver's gonna be pissed," John said quietly, failing to suppress a smile. He tried to imagine her face when she got the bill for it. _Probably the same as always,_ he thought. She wasn't exactly expressive, even for a cyborg.

After a couple of minutes of typing, Irina handed the card back to Sarah and then took out six key-cards. "Your suite is number Seven-Oh-Four; on the seventh floor." She slapped a bell on the desk and a young man only a couple of years older than John appeared from an office behind the desk, saw the group and reached for Cameron's bag.

"Get back!" Aegir growled at him, stepping threateningly towards the kid who stared up at the Vanguard, eyes wide in terror as he backed away.

"Stop it," John hissed at Aegir. "He's a porter; it's his job to take our bags up for us." It was just like the valet incident a moment ago, except Aegir didn't seem to have Thor's restraint. Aegir just glared at the young man for a moment before turning away.

"We'll manage ourselves, thank you," Sarah said apologetically, flashing an embarrassed smile at the porter and then at Irina.

Unlike the porter, who to John looked like he might have actually soiled himself with fright, Irina appeared completely unfazed and carried on as if nothing had happened. "There are elevators just through there." She pointed to a corridor on their right. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

They left the hotel reception and went through the corridor to the elevator. Once inside, Cameron pressed the button to take them to the seventh floor. John noticed a sign inside the car; first in what he assumed was Ukrainian, and then in English: _'Maximum occupancy is 1000KG or 12 persons.'_

"How much do you guys weigh again?" John asked, his gaze turning from the sign to the three Vanguards. "Should we take the stairs?"

"Our combined weight is approximately six hundred kilograms," Freyr said. "The elevator will hold us."

"Yeah… I was kidding," John said. _Tough crowd._ As the elevator ascended he realised that he and Cameron were holding hands. _Weird,_ he thought; he hadn't even noticed it before, or whether he'd grabbed her hand or she'd taken his. He glanced out the corner of his eye at his mother to see if she was aware, but if she was she wasn't making it obvious. John and Cameron shared a look and both half-smiled, making no move to disconnect their hands, content to leave it as it was.

Once they reached the seventh floor they exited the elevator and walked through the corridor to Suite 704.

"Before we go in," Sarah said to the others quietly, "don't talk about machines, Kaliba, or the mission until we've swept the place for bugs."

Cameron pulled out her pistol and key-card, swiped the latter through the electronic lock and pushed the door open. She went inside first, leaving the light off as she entered with her pistol drawn down, ready to fire on any intruders waiting for them. She saw no movement or heat signatures, just a large, open-plan room with three sofas in a horseshoe around a mahogany coffee table, above which hung a crystal chandelier. The curtains were drawn shut, preventing anyone outside from seeing in, so she turned on the light switch.

" _Wow,"_ John said as he went in behind Cameron. He looked around the suite's living room. In the middle, feet away from the sofas was an ornate-looking fireplace, with a large mirror hanging on the wall above it; and beside, two chairs beside for anyone who wanted to just sit by the fire, he presumed. To the right of that was one of the biggest flat-screen TVs John had ever seen.

Aegir was the last one to enter and he closed the door behind him. He and the other Vanguards did not seem particularly interested in their surroundings or the décor. Instead they did what John unconsciously did every time he entered a new place: assessed the exits and entry points.

John took the opportunity to look around the suite, accompanied by Cameron. They passed an office with a small library inside; a cloakroom-cum-kitchenette; a dining room with a large, dark-wood table big enough to fit ten people around, and two large bedrooms. He stepped through the office/library and through a door into one of the bedrooms. Dominating the room was a massive double bed that was wider than he was tall. He dropped his bags onto the bed, wordlessly claiming the room as his own. He noticed Cameron place her bag next to his, and he knew what that implied.

The bedroom also had an en suite bathroom, and when John went in to take a look he saw that it was bigger than the bedrooms in either house they'd lived in since the time jump, or any he'd had before that. Back into the bedroom, he went to the French windows that ran floor to ceiling ten feet from the left-hand side of the bed. The drapes were drawn closed, concealing the outside world. He turned the light off so that nobody outside would be able to see him, drew the drapes open, then opened the French windows, which he saw extended out onto a large balcony.

"What's that?" Cameron asked, as she stepped out onto the balcony with him and saw what looked like a large hexagonal bathtub with a blue cover over it. She pulled the edge of it up and saw that it was filled with hot water.

"Hot tub," John said, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. Unlike the one in Déjalo, he doubted very much that he'd have to fix this one himself. "You've never seen one before?" he asked.

"No," Cameron said. "How does it work?"

"You just sit in the water and push the button that blows bubbles into the water. You'll love it."

"We'll need to buy bathing suits."

For a fraction of a second, John imagined Cameron in a skimpy bikini and again he couldn't help the smile that split his face as the possibilities played through his mind. After spending his whole life living off the grid, squatting and scraping by, he would have never imagined, not ever, that their war against Skynet could have taken them to a place like this.

Sarah entered the bedroom and despite the gloom, spotted John and Cameron's bags on the bed. She went onto the balcony and saw them staring at the hot tub.

"John's called dibs," Cameron said, sensing Sarah approaching them from behind.

 _Figures,_ Sarah thought. "As long as you let me use the hot tub sometime," she said to John.

"Sure," he replied, turning around to face his mother, who looked stern. "What's up?"

Sarah didn't say anything in reply. Instead she took out her phone and rapidly tapped the keys. Seconds later, both John's and Cameron's phones vibrated in their pockets and they simultaneously pulled them from their pockets to check. John unlocked his cell and saw he had a single text message from Sarah: _'Sweep the room for bugs.'_

Both John and Cameron nodded, and split up to start inspecting the room. Cameron unscrewed a light bulb from one of the lamps and examined it for any signs of tampering. There was nothing. She put it back into place and checked the others. John left the bedroom and went into the middle of the suite. Thor, Freyr and Aegir were all looking around the room, searching for any trace of bugs. Aegir was on his knees on the floor, unscrewing one of the electrical sockets with a knife. It seemed strange to John; from what he'd seen of the Vanguards so far – especially Aegir – they were all about brute force and firepower. He hadn't expected them to operate as delicately as they were now, taking extra care not to damage anything or leave any marks.

John studied the socket as Aegir finished removing the screws and took the white plastic casing away to reveal the coloured wires underneath. John noted two circular holes in the round plastic base of the socket itself. "We're going to need adaptors for our phone chargers," he said.

"Make a list," said Thor as he reached up and inspected the chandelier above the sofas and coffee table.

John went back into the bedroom and copied what Aegir had done, checking the wall sockets for any listening devices planted inside. He found none.

Almost an hour later they were assembled in the living room. On the coffee table, their new arsenal of weaponry was laid out in front of them. John and Cameron sat together on one of the sofas, Sarah on another, and the three Vanguards stood behind the third – it wasn't large enough to fit all three of them on and John wasn't sure if it would take their combined weight, anyway.

"We have good news and bad news," Sarah announced. "Good news first: we haven't found any bugs, so we should be safe to talk shop," she said. "We haven't got any screwdrivers so we can't take apart the TV or the phone to check, but all the seals on them are still there so we'll have to assume for now that there aren't any."

"We shouldn't use the hotel phones, just in case," John added.

"What's the bad news?" Freyr asked.

Sarah swept her hand over the weapons on the table: three AK-103s, a limited supply of grenades for their underslung launchers and only one hundred-twenty rounds for each rifle; three pistols and a single rocket launcher. In addition there were only four blocks of Semtex, each with its own detonator. "These weapons are a joke," she said. "I was hoping Weaver would get us more stuff than this. I can't see us taking out a factory full of machines with this."

"That's what _we're_ here for," Aegir commented. He agreed with Sarah: the weapons were unsuitable for the task at hand but they weren't needed: he'd kill a T-888 with his bare hands faster than Cameron, Connor and his mother could, even with all these guns at their disposal. The rocket launcher would be effective but it had no spare missiles.

"Nevertheless," Sarah said, "I'll talk to Weaver, get her to send this guy out again with some more stuff."

John changed the subject. "I brought my laptop with me and I'll start doing some research, see if we can find anything happening in Ukraine that might give some hints." He turned to Thor. "Do you know anything about where Skynet came from?" he asked. "Anything at all, or anything about Kaliba; its operations, facilities?"

"No one ever found out where it began," Thor said. "Not even James Ellison."

"You said he was a double agent, posing as Skynet's top human operative, right?" John asked. Thor nodded, and John found a new respect for the former FBI agent. He couldn't imagine spending half his life doing that; pretending, risking his life every time he tried to pass on vital information to the Alliance, and being probably the most hated man alive in the process. He resolved that, were history to repeat itself, he wouldn't put Ellison or anyone else through that again.

"Kaliba kept Skynet and its facilities well hidden," Freyr added.

"We found traces before," Sarah said. "We'll find them again. It's been a long day, and we – John and me – should get some rest. We'll get started in the morning." Even though she'd slept on the plane she still felt an immense sense of fatigue starting to take hold. The last seventy-two hours; being broken out of prison, falling off the motorcycle – which still hurt like hell – and the rush to catch up with John and Cameron before the T-1001, had taken its toll on her. From what had happened to John, she knew that he was probably in a similar state and would need to relax.

"If anyone wants anything, feel free to raid the minibar or order room service," she said. "Just charge it to the room." She turned to John. "Relax, rest," she ordered him sternly. "You," she said, pointing to Cameron, "are to make sure he does." She knew John: if she or Cameron let him, he'd be up the entire night on his computer, looking for Kaliba.

"I will," Cameron said.

"What are you guys going to do?" John asked Thor.

"Security," Thor answered. "Freyr will remain here. Aegir: patrol the block around the hotel. I'll observe from the roof. If Kaliba is out there or if they approach, we'll see them coming."

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev**_

 _ **Wednesday 2300 Local Time [1300 PST]**_

Cameron sat on one side of the queen-sized bed, perusing through brochures detailing the sights to see in Kiev. There were World War Two and Cold War walking tours of the city, with English-speaking guides to relate the history of the country. Tours operated in Chernobyl, though she doubted given Sarah's radiation scare in Serrano Point that she'd want to take that tour or even hear about it. There were also a number of museums, and an air show that was due to commence in three days' time and run until Sunday. Next to her, John sat and tapped away at the keyboard of his laptop.

"What are you looking at?" she asked him, leaning over to peer at the screen. John tried to tilt the laptop away, out of her sight, but he was too slow and she grabbed it, holding it in place. Cameron saw an article about a Russian unmanned drone aircraft that was due to appear in the coming air show. "Your mother said you were to rest," she said.

"How can I when somewhere out there, Kaliba's doing God knows what?" They knew Kaliba was somewhere in Ukraine; for all they knew, the conglomerate could have a presence in the very hotel they were staying in, or a building down the street, or anywhere in the country – though it was entirely possible Ukraine wasn't even the shipment's final destination.

"They'll still be doing it tomorrow," Cameron said to him. "You need to rest."

"I think I'm over the whole hypothermia thing," John replied. "Did I tell you that already? Could've sworn I did."

Cameron nodded. "I know. But you push yourself too hard." He was the same in the future. She recalled regularly standing sentinel in his quarters, watching over his shoulder as he worked on various strategies and made plans, not sleeping for days on end. According to him, that's when he did his best work. She knew that the John sitting next to her now would be the same, except he'd probably use the excuses that Judgment Day was coming, and there was Red Bull in the minibar in the lounge that could keep him going.

"I need to," he said. "It's important."

"It's important to not exhaust yourself. A tired Connor is no good to anyone. Especially me." She winked as she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his chest, pinning his arms to his side and forcing him to turn towards her until she pressed her lips to his.

John closed his eyes and kissed her back, all thoughts of the article on his laptop evaporating instantaneously. _She knows how to press my buttons._ "I guess I could take a break for a minute," he said, breaking the kiss for just a moment before their mouths reconnected and she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, feeling John groan pleasurably against her mouth.

Cameron snatched the computer from his lap and quickly broke off the kiss, pulling away from the bed and standing up before he could reach for it, snapping the laptop shut.

"Hey!" he protested, unsure whether it was because she'd used the kiss as a ruse or just because she'd broken it off. _A bit of both,_ he thought. He was also a little irritated that he hadn't seen it coming. Cameron strode towards the bedroom door. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'll be back," she said. She slipped through the door and went into the lounge, where Freyr sat on one of the couches, watching the TV. There was a movie she didn't recognise on, in Ukrainian but with English subtitles, and the volume was turned down low.

"Keep this away from John until I tell you otherwise," she instructed him, handing the laptop to the larger cyborg. Freyr nodded his compliance as she knelt down at the minibar and pulled the door open, noting that the seal had been broken.

"Sarah took several items," Freyr explained. "She stated her intention was to leave it empty before we check out. She seems determined to cost Catherine Weaver as much money as possible. I don't know why; ZeiraCorp's budget would be better spent elsewhere."

"Spite," Cameron explained, remembering Weaver's discussion with John over the items they'd lost in Crater Lake. John had taken her attitude towards their lives badly, and Sarah disliked her on principle because she was a machine – especially because she was a liquid metal design. "It's illogical but it makes Sarah happier, which makes her easier to work with."

Cameron examined the contents inside the minibar. There were numerous snack items, most of which were chocolates, both local brands and some she recognised from the US, as well as a variety of canned and miniature bottles of drinks, both soft and alcoholic.

She searched for the latter and found a variety. She picked out two small bottles of imported whisky and two chocolate bars – the latter were one each for her and John. She then closed up the minibar and took her small load back into John's and her room.

She sat back on the bed and kissed John once more, making up for her momentary deceit. "I didn't mean to trick you," she said.

"Its fine," John shrugged. "You're just looking out for me, I know. You could have just told me to stop and get some rest though."

"I did. You didn't listen."

"I guess I can be just as stubborn as Mom sometimes," John confessed.

Cameron raised a queried eyebrow. _"Sometimes?"_

"Okay: _all_ the time." When he thought about it, he knew she was right. If it wasn't for his mom's intervention and then the car bomb that caused Cameron's glitch, he would have spent his entire birthday scouring through Sarkissian's hard drive. He wondered for a moment, if he were normal and not some future messiah, whether he'd be the same or not: spending all his time studying at school, college, and then working longer and longer days at whatever job he ended up with.

"I brought these," she said, handing John a bar of chocolate and the two miniature whiskies.

"What is it?" John asked, looking at the label.

"Talisker: voted best single malt whisky in the world, 2007," Cameron answered, reading the label on the side of the bottle. "Aged eighteen years: it's older than you."

"Not sure if I should really be drinking," John said uncertainly. Champagne on the plane had been one thing, more about lapping up the luxury while it lasted, but he wasn't sure about drinking hard liquor. "And what happened to that whole healthy eating thing?"

"It'll help you sleep," Cameron said. It was only a small amount; each bottle no more than a mouthful, not enough for her to worry about its long-term effects on John's health. She decided to add some more ammunition to her case. "I looked at the price list inside the minibar: it's imported from Scotland; eighteen dollars per bottle."

"For this little thing?" John looked at the tiny amount he held in his hand. "That'll piss Weaver off." John smirked as he unscrewed the cap, lifted the bottle to his lips and knocked it back. It was strong and tasted smoky in his mouth before he swallowed it, warming his throat and stomach.

"Cheers," he said, clinking his second bottle against Cameron's chocolate bar before he downed that one too. He tore open his own chocolate and munched it down, much preferring the taste of that to the Talisker.

Cameron kissed John once more before he undressed and slipped under the duvet. "I'm going to talk to Freyr," she said. "I'll be back."

John frowned at her, wondering where she'd picked that phrase up from; she'd used it a lot recently.

* * *

 _ **Downtown Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **Wednesday 1305 PST**_

The roads were quiet compared to the usual traffic standards of Downtown Los Angeles. There were still plenty of cars on the road but they were unusually free-flowing. The traffic lights worked continuously, controlled by an automated system designed to manage the flow of traffic and prevent accidents. Typically in a city the size of LA, built on a grid system, travel through the city involved a lot of stop-start at intersections as north-south gave way to east-west and vice versa.

Except for one vehicle. A medium-duty truck rolled through the streets, accelerating past sixty miles per hour, completely unhindered by the traffic lights, which all conveniently switched to green as it approached. It continued south and tore through the streets, taking turns at speeds that should have seen the truck roll over but the driver maintained incredible control of the vehicle despite the weight of his unstable, volatile cargo.

The T-888 spotted his target: ZeiraCorp appeared approximately eight hundred metres ahead on the left. He pressed down harder on the gas until the pedal hit the floor. He crossed another intersection, not even slowing down as the lights flicked from red to green to allow him to pass. _Six hundred metres. Four hundred metres…_

The attack had been planned to commence when most of ZeiraCorp's employees would be in the building, eliminating as many as possible while causing maximum damage.

When the truck was two-hundred metres from ZeiraCorp the driver veered left, crossing onto the wrong side of the road – which was clear thanks to the traffic lights stopping all vehicles coming in the opposite direction. The entrance to the target building was raised up above ground level by a series of steps. The truck sped up and ran onto the sidewalk, up the steps and crashed into the front door.

Glass and metal exploded outwards in all directions as the truck smashed into the foyer, shattering the reception desk before ploughing into a large square pillar. On impact the cargo detonated, erupting in a giant conflagration of flame and a shockwave that blew walls and doors apart, and snapped pillars and structural supports like twigs. Everything on the first twelve levels was vaporised by the intense heat of the bomb. The remaining six storeys, with nothing below to support them, collapsed under their own weight, adding an avalanche of smoke, dust and debris that catapulted outwards, hammering the surrounding buildings hard and smashing every window in the surrounding area.

Car alarms screeched and wailed amid the raining debris. Smoke continued to rise and orange glows could be seen among the shattered pile of rubble that was once ZeiraCorp as it continued to burn.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **2310 Local Time [1310 PST]**_

Cameron left John asleep in the bedroom and returned to the lounge, where Freyr was still sat on the couch, still switching from channel to channel on the TV. "This is what humans do for entertainment?" he asked her, gesturing at the screen.

"Most of them," she replied. It didn't make sense to her, either, and it probably explained why so many of them died in the early years of the war; they'd spent so much time indoors, being spoon-fed everything, that very few of them knew how to fend for themselves when the supermarkets were empty and the power went out.

"Strange," Freyr said. "How is Connor?"

"John's pushing himself too hard," Cameron answered. "He's not like us."

"It's in Connor's nature. The human soldiers used to say that cyborgs slept more than he did."

Cameron took a seat next to the Vanguard. "What was he like in your future?" she asked, curious.

"I'd only met him twice: the assault on Cheyenne Mountain and the day Project Vanguard was initiated. He was different to the other soldiers; he didn't share their jokes or engage in very much conversation, except for operational discussions."

"He didn't have any friends in my future, either," Cameron said.

"He had you in my future. Some humans were concerned that he spent too much time with our kind and not enough with his own. Most knew that it was necessary; without him there would have been no alliance. Or without you."

Cameron had heard that from Thor before, in the van on the way back from Oregon. She had no reason to doubt their version of the future but she found it difficult to believe that she was such an integral part of it. "Why?" she asked him. "What was I in your future?" She knew she was still protecting John all that time, and they had both survived the end of the war, from Thor's recounting of it.

"You held the rank of Commander; second-in-command of the allied cyborg forces after John Henry, liaison between our forces and the humans, and General Connor's bodyguard and confidante."

"Is that it?" Cameron asked, sensing that Freyr was still holding something back. The Vanguards didn't have facial expressions, just the same permanent neutral expression, making Freyr even harder to read than she knew herself to be. She found it frustrating and noted that John probably felt the same way with her at times.

Freyr said nothing. They'd all agreed, silently, back at Serrano Point, not to tell Connor and Cameron about their future. They knew that their fledgling relationship would be important to the Alliance in years to come. Too important to risk.

"You said I outrank you," Cameron said. "I could order you to tell me."

Freyr remained silent in hesitation, uncertain of how to respond to that. He could simply argue that he didn't technically have to take orders from her, that she wasn't yet a Commander and that he was currently only answerable to Thor. He could do that, but he didn't.

He didn't, because although the Cameron sat next to him was not Second-in-Command of the cyborg army, not yet _'Commander Cameron Connor,'_ he was still uncomfortable with the concept of disobeying her. Regardless of her current lack of rank or position, she was still who she was: the genesis of the free machines. His CPU was based on her chip, as was every other cyborg built by John Henry. He, Thor and Aegir, as well as thousands of others in the future, shared her code, her data. And possibly even more importantly, she was the first cyborg in history to reject her programming and make her own choice, choosing Connor over her orders. She was the mother of all free cyborgs, a legend among both his kind and the humans, and he didn't want to disobey her.

"That would be a bad idea," he said finally.

"Why?" Cameron stared at him, waiting for answers.

"It could influence events," Freyr replied. Sarah was correct: Connor and Cameron had to make their own decisions. They seemed to already be close but telling them could risk adversely affecting events; knowing what he knew could place pressure on them that might damage their relationship, and the Alliance, in its infancy.

"Okay," Cameron said, taking Freyr by surprise. She wasn't satisfied with his answer but she knew the importance of keeping secrets sometimes. She'd kept several from John and Sarah, which she knew irritated them, even causing the eldest Connor to doubt her trustworthiness. Now she understood how they must have felt when she withheld information from them, even if it was for their own benefit. If Freyr believed it was necessary to keep secrets then she wouldn't force them from him.

She looked back over her shoulder towards John's room. She already knew from Thor that she was still by John's side in his time, still protecting him. Freyr had revealed more: _'Connor's protector and confidante'…_ and something else he wasn't saying: she was determined to find out what it was.

A familiar image appeared on the TV in front of them and Cameron watched, becoming increasingly concerned by the second as the footage played. "Pause it," she told Freyr. Sarah would want to know, so she marched towards the elder Connor's room and knocked on the door before opening it and turning on the light – for Sarah's benefit, not hers.

In a split second Sarah shot up in bed, grabbed a Makarov pistol from the nightstand next to her and had it pointed at Cameron. She lowered it slightly when she realised who it was. "Don't do that," she snapped at the cyborg, for a moment wondering if this was what John felt when she woke him up like that. She flicked the safety on and put the gun back on the nightstand. "What do you want?" she asked.

"You need to see this," Cameron said. "Now."

Sarah still didn't fully trust Cameron. She doubted she ever would, but the machine knew her stuff and if she thought something was important then it warranted attention. Sarah got out of bed and padded barefoot out of her room, following Cameron into the lounge, where Freyr still sat with the remote in his hand. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Watch," Freyr said as he pressed _play_ to resume the programme.

The footage on screen was that of Downtown LA, filmed from above. Sarah assumed it was taken from on board a helicopter. Centred in the screen was a site of absolute devastation; a building had been completely annihilated. What was left of the upper floors rested in pieces atop a giant pile of rubble and debris. Shattered pieces of concrete, shards of glass and bent steel struts stuck out in thousands of places. Cars parked outside had been flipped onto their backs. While the bulk of the devastation was confined to just the one building, those across the street hadn't escaped unscathed. The camera panned to an office block opposite, the side of the tower adjacent to the destroyed tower was scorched black in places and every single window had been shattered. The scene reminded Sarah of a few days after they'd arrived in 2007, when Carlos and his gang had told her about 9/11.

"That's ZeiraCorp," Cameron said to her, aware that Sarah hadn't actually seen the place before.

 _"Was_ ZeiraCorp," Freyr corrected her. He'd also communicated what he was seeing with Thor and Aegir outside.

"I'd better call Weaver," Sarah said, abruptly turning around and heading back to her room.

Cameron remained for a moment, watching the news footage, unsure of what the consequences would be. Neither Catherine Weaver nor John Henry were at ZeiraCorp but that seemed to be her main source of income. Since meeting with her they'd gone from hiding in the woods to having the beginnings of a proper human/cyborg coalition and a very real chance to find and stop Skynet. She didn't know what other assets Weaver possessed or whether the loss of ZeiraCorp would be an inconvenience or a crippling blow.

"I need to see John; you should use his laptop to continue his search for Kaliba," she said to Freyr then turned away and walked quickly back to John's room. She didn't know why it was so urgent; her proximity didn't make a difference to the events of the last five minutes but she just _needed_ to be with him right now.

He was under the covers, laying on his side, and his pants and shirt were thrown onto the ground in a haphazard pile with his shoes and socks. She folded them neatly and placed them onto a chair in the corner of the room, before stripping down to her underwear and placing her own clothes next to his. She slipped under the covers and lay beside him. John stirred for a moment and she turned around on her side, spooning against him as she wrapped her arm around his side, placing the palm of her hand on his stomach and checking his vital signs. He wasn't quite asleep but he was on his way.

She paused as John moved, stirring further. "Hey," he slurred, only semi-conscious. He grabbed her hand in his and held onto it, moving backwards slightly until his back was pressed up against her chest and stomach. He sighed contentedly and Cameron noticed his pulse slowed quickly by several beats per minute, exactly as it had done in the cabin at Crater Lake.

She considered whether or not to tell him. She knew him: he'd want to know, want her to tell him what she'd just seen, but then he'd get up and would watch the news and/or scour the internet for everything he could find, then want to talk to Weaver and John Henry. He was already stressed enough over the loss of Kaliba's shipment. She didn't want to exacerbate things. She'd kept secrets from him for months; one more until the morning wouldn't hurt.

* * *

 _"It's under control,"_ Weaver said to Sarah down the phone. _"I took precautions a few days ago."_

"Your company's gone and hundreds of people are dead: how's that _'under control?'"_ Sarah asked dubiously.

 _"Let me worry about that,"_ Weaver continued. _"Losing the tower is an inconvenience. It might even buy us some time if Kaliba thinks they've hurt us. It's not a major loss but it has caused some extra work for me; so is there anything else I can help you with?"_

Sarah thought about it, and there was something. "I need to see a doctor," she said. "Cancer screening." She'd lied to John before; she felt like crap but she was keeping it together for his sake. "It's too risky to see anyone back home so I need an appointment here."

 _"Give me a few hours and I'll see what I can do,"_ Weaver replied. Sarah had to give the machine her due: she didn't make a fuss or waste any time asking inane questions or even pretending to be concerned. She just got on with it. One of the very few things she liked about machines.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Wednesday 1320 PST**_

Weaver cancelled the call, recreated the pocket in her hip and placed the phone inside, then turned to John Henry. "I need you to search for English-speaking private medical clinics and book a cancer-screening for Sarah under her passport name."

"Is Sarah sick?" John Henry asked, concern apparent in his voice; a clear product of James Ellison's empathy teaching.

"That's what we're going to find out," she said. "And when they get the results, find out what they are and tell me immediately."

"Sarah has cancer?" Ellison asked her. She'd never told him that, though it did explain why she'd wanted Cameron to take John and get away, leaving her behind.

"Possibly," Weaver said.

"And if she does?" Ellison asked. "They don't have insurance; are you going to have her treated?"

"Of course," Weaver said.

"Will there be any strings attached?" he asked her, suspicious. He'd started to see how she operated now, and didn't believe she would just cure Sarah's cancer and send her on her way. It was the same as when she was in prison: Weaver could have dangled that carrot in front of John for years on the promise of freeing her. And of course, now, John had made his agreement with Thor: they help him find Skynet, and he'd help them find and kill T-Zero. They'd made it abundantly clear that they were dealing with John, Cameron and John Henry, rather than Weaver. John was the key to the Vanguards, and if she used his mother's potential cancer to control John then she'd also control them, too.

"Do it," Weaver said to John Henry. "You'll have to excuse me for a few minutes," she then said to Ellison. "I have to arrange a press conference, or share prices will plummet."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Thursday 0730 Local Time [Wednesday 2130 PST]**_

Cameron turned off the shower, slid open the glass door and stepped out of the cubicle, grabbing a towel from the rail outside. She quickly started to towel herself dry and glanced at the bathtub, the outside of which was the same marble as on the floor and the walls. She'd been tempted to run a bath instead, having never experienced one before, but the shower was quicker, and she still enjoyed the sensation from the hot running water on her skin. _'Getting away from it all,'_ as she'd once told John. The shower felt better than the wind between her toes.

Once she'd dried her body she slipped on a fresh set of underwear and started to blow-dry her hair, running the hot stream of air methodically. As soon as that was done, Cameron pulled out her small makeup bag and opened it, taking out what she needed. She placed mascara, eyeliner, eyeshadow, tinted moisturiser and lip gloss in a perfect line on the counter, and used her towel to wipe steam off the mirror that was as wide as she was tall.

She didn't understand why people needed so much space. The bathtub was a little over two metres long and two people could easily sit inside comfortably. She didn't know why anyone would require a sauna in their hotel room, or even what the purpose of one was at all, though she was curious as to what it felt like.

Cameron pulled on some clothes; a pair of jeans, plain blue t-shirt and socks, and turned back to the mirror. She picked up the eyeliner and watched her reflection in the mirror. She held up the pencil and was about to apply the makeup when she sensed movement to her right.

"Good morning," Cameron said to John, who stood in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom. She'd left it ajar in case he'd needed to come in.

"Morning," John said. He yawned and stretched his arms upwards before stepping into the room. "What're you doing?"

"Putting on makeup." Cameron frowned. He knew what she was doing; he'd seen her apply it several times before, even commenting once that it wasn't brain surgery.

"Yeah," John said as he approached her. "But why?"

Cameron was confused. "To blend in and emphasise my features."

"You don't need it," John said. He paused for a moment, nervous, before adding, "You're beautiful." He looked away from her, feeling himself go red from embarrassment. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew they were cheesy, clichéd. He didn't even know why he felt embarrassed; it wasn't like she was going to judge him for it. After a moment he dared himself to glance back at her out the corner of his eye. She was smiling.

"Thank you," Cameron said, still smiling. She could tell from John's blushing that it wasn't simply a passing compliment, and she appreciated it.

"It's true." It didn't take an idiot, John thought, to see that she was drop dead gorgeous, which was why Morris and half the guys in the high school they'd briefly attended had been attracted to her. But it wasn't just that. He realised that now was probably the only time he'd ever seen her, completely natural, where he had nothing else to think about. She was perfect, and he couldn't see how makeup could improve on perfection.

"Okay," Cameron said, putting the eyeliner back into her makeup bag and placing the other items inside as well. "I'm ready. What about you?"

"I'm… hungry," John said, realising he hadn't eaten anything other than a bar of chocolate since before they'd got off the plane.

"I'll order some breakfast for you," Cameron said, stepping towards the bathroom door.

John reached out and held her by the arm, stopping her. "Actually… I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air, too; how about we go somewhere for breakfast?"

"I could eat," she said, then paused as if reluctant to speak further; she didn't want to ruin the moment, but John needed to know.

"Yes?" he asked, sensing she had something more to add.

"ZeiraCorp was destroyed last night."

John's mouthed gaped open in surprise, but he quickly composed himself, though his heart was racing. "Any casualties?"

"I don't know," Cameron admitted. "Weaver and John Henry are okay."

"Right," John muttered through gritted teeth. "Was it Kaliba?"

"Possibly. I–"

"Don't know," John finished for her. "Yeah, I get it."

"I'll wait for you in the lounge." Cameron left John to use the bathroom, and be alone with his thoughts. She passed through their bedroom and into the suite proper, where Sarah was already sitting at a table with a plate of breakfast and a large pot of coffee. Freyr sat on the sofa and Thor stood facing him. As she entered the lounge she saw Thor turn to her and nod. Cameron returned the gesture and did the same to Freyr. The TV was on.

"John's using the bathroom," she said. "I've informed him about ZeiraCorp. When he's ready we're going out to get breakfast." Cameron then turned to Freyr. "Did you find any possible leads to Skynet or Kaliba?" she asked.

"Nothing," said the Vanguard.

"Was there anything mentioned about Ukraine in the future?" Sarah asked, turning around to face them.

"No," said Thor. "Skynet kept its origins well hidden; none of its machines knew and it probably killed any humans working for it who would have known."

"There's no probable links with Ukrainian military that we can see," Freyr added. "From my research online they don't have the military-industrial capacity to be of any use to Skynet."

"But Russia does," Sarah said. "The border's only ninety miles away; what if they drove north into Russia?"

"North-east," Frey corrected her. "But I doubt it."

"Why?" Sarah asked.

Thor answered her question instead of Freyr. "John Henry tracked the hyper-alloy shipment to Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow, and then to Kiev. If Kaliba wanted the shipment to arrive in Russia, they would have unloaded it there before the flight continued on to Kiev."

"Given current tensions between Russia and its neighbouring states, border crossings would be problematic, too," Freyr added.

"Where did you learn that?" Cameron asked.

"CNN," Freyr answered, gesturing at the TV. At present it was showing commercials, which were all dubbed in Ukrainian. Cameron watched the screen as an advert for McDonalds ended, which was followed by footage of fighter aircraft soaring through the sky in aerobatic formation. There were multiple types of planes and the scenes played quickly, appearing to advertise an air show. She didn't find it interesting until close to the end. A brief flash of footage appeared, perhaps one second long, of a familiar-shaped plane banking hard.

Cameron grabbed the TV remote from Freyr's hand and pressed the pause button. The image stopped and she reversed it before pausing again. The screen showed a still image of a sleek aircraft, with two barrel-shaped tilting jet engines, short, stubby wings, and downward-angled rudders. "That's an HK," she said.

Sarah couldn't quite believe what she was seeing; it was the spitting image of the drone she'd seen in the desert. "Why's there an HK on TV?"

Unbeknown to Sarah, the two Vanguards in the room were even more familiar with the design. "It looks almost exactly like the HKs in the future," Thor said.

"Same as my future," Cameron added. "Except those HKs didn't have the wings."

"Ours did," Freyr said. "To improve their manoeuvrability against our fighter aircraft."

"Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?" Sarah asked rhetorically.

Cameron played the rest of the commercial so the others could see the location and dates for the air show. "It's starting Saturday," she said. "We should investigate."

"Where?" Sarah asked.

"Gostomel Airport."

"You mean, the same airport we landed in?"

"Yes."

"And John Henry didn't think to mention that?" Sarah couldn't believe that something like that could have just slipped the AI's mind. "I'm gonna have serious words with that metal and Weaver when we get back," she muttered.

"We weren't expecting to stay this long," Thor reminded her. "We thought we were following the hyper-alloy shipment. If we'd been successful we'd already be flying back home. John Henry probably didn't think it relevant." He saw that Sarah wasn't convinced, but it wasn't his business to convert her.

"What's up?" John entered the living room, still red from the heat of the shower and now in fresh jeans and T-shirt.

"We've found a possible link to Kaliba," both Cameron and Thor said at the same time. The Vanguard said nothing more, allowing Cameron to continue.

"There's an air show Saturday. The commercial we just saw featured an aircraft that looked like an HK. We're going to attend and find out if it is linked."

"Sounds like something I was reading about last night online," John said. "What do we do if it does have something to do with Skynet?"

"Blow it up," Sarah said.

"Mom, we can't just stick some Semtex on the side of a drone to make it go away. If they have one they'll have more, or at least plans to build more. Who built it?"

"We don't know," Cameron said.

"There were no visible markings we saw from the footage," Freyr said. "Nothing to say where it was made or even which country produced it."

John shrugged. "The one I read about came from Russia; guess we'll just have to find out when we get there. Not much we can do about it until Saturday."

"What do we do until then?" Thor asked.

"Whatever you want," John replied. "We're going out to get breakfast." He gestured at Cameron to indicate her as well.

"It's safer in the hotel," Sarah warned him.

John reached behind him and pulled his t-shirt up to reveal his Makarov tucked underneath the waistband of his jeans. "Two spare magazines in my left pocket, and Cameron will be with me."

"I'd feel better if one of them went with you too," Sarah said, tilting her head towards Thor and Freyr.

"I can protect John," Cameron said. She didn't know whether Sarah still didn't trust her or simply thought she was obsolete because Thor, Freyr and Aegir were more capable combat models. She didn't like either suggestion. She did notice, however, that it had only been a suggestion; she hadn't _told_ John to take one of the Vanguards with him.

"We're going out to explore the city," John said, "not taking on main battle tanks. No offence," he quickly said to Thor and Freyr.

"None taken," Thor said evenly.

"I believe he wishes to spend some time alone with Cameron," Freyr said.

Sarah raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her son and crossed her arms. _"Oh?_ Is this a _date,_ John?" She grinned wickedly as he turned red and stammered something but stopped, stunned into silence with embarrassment. For several seconds she enjoyed watching him squirm.

 _Screw it,_ John said to himself. "Yes. Yes it is," he replied curtly. "Let's go." He turned to Cameron, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugging it on as he headed for the door. Cameron quickly followed after him.

"You going out without your warpaint?" Sarah called to her. "That's brave." Cameron turned back, unsure what she meant. John, as so often, came to her aid.

"She means your makeup, and no, she doesn't need it," he said, glaring at his mother, who grinned back triumphantly.

"Aww, how sweet," Sarah said.

John grabbed Cameron's hand and dragged her away before anything more regrettable was said.

As soon as they were out of sight and the door closed behind them, Thor turned to Sarah. "What was that?" he asked, not understanding why she'd seemed to take pleasure in John's embarrassment.

Sarah shrugged. "I don't like it but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun at his expense. It's a parent thing; we're supposed to give our kids a hard time about their first girlfriends." Suddenly she realised that as she'd said it she'd completely discounted Riley. It was funny, she thought, how the human 'girlfriend' had been more artificial than the machine one. _Where the hell did that come from?_ She also realised that she was calling Cameron his girlfriend before it had even happened, and she was still hoping, deep down, that he would change his mind about that.

* * *

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Thursday 0800 Local Time [Wednesday 2200 PST]**_

The centre of Kiev was alive, busier than when they'd arrive the night before, John noted. The streets were bustling with people going to and fro; he assumed most were on their way to work. The roads they had crossed had all been packed with traffic moving slowly, just like it had been in Los Angeles except instead of the Dodges, Fords, Chryslers and the Chevrolets were Hyundais, Mitsubishis, a few BMWs and Mercedes, and a large number of cars displaying logos he'd never seen before. He presumed they were Russian.

He and Cameron were walking through downtown Kiev, looking for somewhere to eat breakfast. Despite being in a busy, crowded city once again, John felt relief. He and Cameron were anonymous, just two more faces, and he doubted anyone here had ever even heard of _'John Connor.'_ To anyone who glanced at them they were just a young couple like any other. He felt like he should relax but he still found himself occasionally picking people out, watching where they were looking. But nobody paid him or Cameron any more attention than anyone else.

"Here," Cameron said, turning down a side street, leading him by the hand. They'd been holding hands since leaving the hotel, and despite his mother's teasing, John was comfortable with it. For both of them, it seemed the most natural thing to do.

Cameron led him towards a café. It had outdoor seating but she walked past that and through the front door. Inside would be more secure and more comfortable for John; there was a slight chill in the air and she knew he was still averse to being cold after his experience of hypothermia at Crater Lake.

The café was small; a dozen wooden tables lined the walls, each covered by blue and yellow tablecloths. At the far end was a counter with the entrance to the kitchen on the left-hand side. He could see one of the chefs bustling about the kitchen through the window in the door leading into it. A waitress passed through it and the smell of cooking meat wafting from the kitchen made John's stomach rumble. Seven of the tables were occupied, totalling nineteen patrons, plus two waitresses that he could see. They sat down at one closest to the door. Cameron took a seat facing the window so she could observe people outside. It meant that John was between the window and her, therefore if anyone shot into the restaurant he'd be hit, but with his back facing the outside, no one – machine or Kaliba operative – would be able to identify him. If anyone already inside became a threat, John was closer to the door and could escape more easily.

John picked up a menu and glanced at it. He had no idea what any of it said; it was all written in Cyrillic and he realised the folly of leaving the hotel for breakfast. "Do you think they have any English menus?" he asked Cameron.

"I don't know," she said. She picked up another menu and studied it.

"Tell me you can't read that?" John said as he watched her. He'd seen her confused look before; she tilted her head ever so slightly and her eyes were somewhat wider. That wasn't what he was seeing now.

"I can't tell you that," Cameron replied. "I promised I wouldn't lie to you."

"When did you learn Ukrainian?" he asked.

"On the airplane coming here. I had plenty of time while you slept."

John nodded his head appreciatively. "Got to hand it to you: you always plan ahead."

"I try," Cameron said.

A waitress approached and stood by the table. She said something that John couldn't understand, to which Cameron replied. The waitress spoke again, wrote something down on her notepad, then walked back towards the kitchen.

"Care to translate?" John asked.

"I ordered for you," Cameron said.

John felt nervous all of a sudden. She'd been going on for a while about him eating more healthily and now they were in a foreign land with a menu he couldn't understand a word of. He found himself completely at her mercy.

"Sauerkraut and pork-stuffed cabbage leaves," Cameron said simply.

"Oh." John looked at her uncertainly, trying to decide whether or not she was serious. He couldn't tell; he had no better luck reading her expression than he had the menu. "That sounds… healthy," he said, figuring that he was right and that was indeed what she was going for. He wished they'd had more notice before coming so he could have acquired a phrase or two and been able to order for himself. "I should have learned the language with you."

"You needed your rest," Cameron replied. "And there wouldn't have been enough time, even for someone as clever as you."

John smiled at her rare compliment. "You said you learned Ukrainian, but I'd have thought you would have been programmed with every language," he said.

Cameron smiled too. John was wrong, but he was thinking about how she thought; how she and other terminators were programmed, how their minds worked. It was a good sign. "I was only programmed with English," she said.

John still didn't understand. "Why not all of them?"

"It wasn't necessary," Cameron said. "And they would have taken up valuable memory space. Terminators are only programmed with languages they're most likely to encounter, depending on their location. And English. All cyborgs speak English."

"Why?"

"Because you do," Cameron said.

"What about Spanish?" John asked her.

Cameron moved one of her hands towards his, her fingertips just brushing over his knuckles lightly. "You taught it to me," she said.

John felt a thrill at her touch and dry-swallowed nervously. "Me?" He'd never spoken Spanish to her before… "You mean in the future, don't you?"

"You told me one of your favourite things from your childhood was Sarah reading _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ in Spanish to you. You taught me Spanish so we could read it together."

"If I was running the war, how did I even have time for that?"

Cameron smiled. "I'm a quick study, and you always made time for me."

John felt a pang of guilt stabbing him in the gut. In the last year he'd either ignored or actively avoided her. His future self had taken the time to teach her things, and yet in the months since he'd turned sixteen he'd barely made time to have one conversation with her. _I won't make that mistake again,_ he promised himself.

The waitress approached holding a tray with two cups on it. The couple withdrew their hands from the table as she placed the cups down and John saw he had hot, steaming coffee while Cameron had tea. The waitress said something to Cameron that again John didn't understand, then headed back to the kitchen. Cameron put two teaspoons of sugar into each of their cups and stirred. For a moment, John was surprised that she knew exactly how he liked his coffee, but then he realised he shouldn't be. "Did you learn how I take my coffee in the future, or here?" he asked, meaning the present.

"Here," Cameron said. "There's no coffee in the future."

 _"No coffee?"_ John said with mock outrage. "Then I really don't know what we're even fighting for! What did we drink; just water?"

"Water, and alcohol brewed in improvised distilleries."

"Seriously? No coffee but we've got moonshine? Weird." He supposed the booze might be good for morale, celebrating a mission gone right; or to help forget when one went wrong.

"Humans have been brewing alcohol and getting drunk since the dawn of time," Cameron said. "You run the few operational vehicles on the same alcohol."

John whistled. "Strong stuff, then." He wasn't sure he wanted to know what the hell went into that brew. He wanted to learn about the future but in this case, he thought, ignorance might be bliss.

"Temporary blindness was a common problem for those who drank it, until reprogrammed machines helped refine the process."

John couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, then remembered where he was and kept his voice down. "You're telling me I reprogrammed the most advanced killing machines in history, and then had them making _booze?"_ A mental image came to mind of a terminator barman pouring cold ones for his soldiers. _At least no one would dare start a bar fight._

Again the waitress returned, this time with two plates; one much larger than the other. He knew Cameron didn't really need to eat and guessed the bigger one was for him. He swallowed nervously, remembering what she'd said about sauerkraut and pork-stuffed cabbage; suddenly he was not looking forward to his breakfast.

The waitress placed one in front of John, who looked down and saw what Cameron had ordered for him: definitely not sauerkraut. Instead there was a large sausage, at least a foot long; three semi-circular perogies, with diced fried onions on top; two fried eggs, hash browns, and an inch-thick slice of black bread, with a small bowl of sour cream on the side. His eyes widened as he took in the portion size; it was huge.

"Not sauerkraut, then," he commented, relieved.

"Fooled you again," she replied, a slight smirk on her face as the waitress put down the smaller plate in front of her. She merely had two slices of black bread with sour cream. She thanked the waitress who then left them to eat. John picked up his knife and fork and started tackling the large meal, as Cameron watched him. "In the future you wouldn't have cared if it were sauerkraut," she said. People seemed to be very particular about what they ate in this time.

John finished a mouthful of perogie, which was filled with meat – pork, he thought. "I'll probably be eating rats in the future, right?" he asked.

"Rats, mushrooms, algae, and whatever vegetables could be picked wild or grown under ultraviolet lamps."

"What about bugs?" John asked.

"Bugs?"

"Yeah, bugs – insects. Didn't anyone eat those?"

"Not that I know of," Cameron said.

"Might be worth looking into: I've eaten bugs before," he told her.

Cameron raised a curious eyebrow at that. "When?" she asked.

"When I was a kid. Mom and I were staying with these guerrilla fighters in the jungle; she had them train her to fight, and then she trained me. They taught us how to live off the land, eat whatever we found. Crickets, grubs, locusts; even tarantula once in a while."

"What was that like?"

"Not too bad; they fried it so it was pretty crispy. The legs and top half were okay; the bottom half, not so much."

"It's a good idea," Cameron said between mouthfuls. "They're almost pure protein." They bred in large numbers, didn't require a large amount of space, and it would be insects that survived nuclear winter better than mammals. It was definitely worth considering, though foraging and gathering insects would be inefficient; they'd need to start farming them before Skynet declared war.

* * *

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Wednesday 2300 PST**_

James Ellison was a light sleeper. He hadn't always been so. Long ago, back when terminators, Skynet and the end of the world were merely the ravings of a 'lunatic' Sarah Connor; years ago when he'd been considered a rising star at the FBI and he'd been happily married, he'd slept soundly. After his career had taken a nosedive; after his marriage had fallen apart – taking with it his dreams of a family; after seeing with his own eyes that there really were machines – demons made metal – since then he hadn't slept well, and he wondered how John and Sarah ever managed to get a good night's sleep.

Movement and noise quickly roused Ellison and he sat up in bed. He couldn't see anything in the dark but he heard footsteps and he could sense someone or something moving in his bedroom. He jumped as the light came on and he found himself staring at Catherine Weaver. "What are you doing here?" he asked, exasperated. "I just got to sleep." He picked his wristwatch up from the bedside cabinet and saw that it was a little before eleven o'clock; he'd been asleep for less than half an hour.

"I need your assistance," she replied, ignoring his complaint.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Two things. First, the cache at Crater Lake was compromised when the T-1001 attacked John and Cameron. We need to retrieve what's left and relocate it to another site." Contrary to what John Connor and his mother thought, she didn't have unlimited funds to acquire such resources.

"What about John Henry? If we're both away and he's attacked–"

Weaver looked at him, amused. "Do you think you'd make a difference if Kaliba attacked, or T-Zero?"

Ellison shook his head. _No._ She had a point there; even if they only sent people, he probably wouldn't be able to do very much. He was proficient with firearms but he wasn't a soldier by any means. "What's the second thing?" he asked.

"The FBI and Department of Homeland Security are investigating the ZeiraCorp bombing. They've taken an interest."

"That's what happens when buildings get blown up," he replied, remembering what it had been like after 9/11. All leave had been cancelled and every spare agent - including himself - had been dragged from lesser assignments to help conduct investigations.

"Indeed. It's very likely that your former colleagues will contact you soon. If they do, you are to say nothing. We can't risk them discovering John Henry, or our connection to John and Sarah."

Weaver started to walk out of the room. "Get dressed," she said. "I'll wait in the car."

"What about Savannah? We can't just leave her here!"

"She's asleep in the back of the car," Weaver said. "Under a blanket," she added, as if to ease his worries, or perhaps keen to show off her eye for detail.

"You're bringing _her?"_ Ellison asked, incredulous. _More wonderful parenting._

"As you said, I can't leave her on her own and she's safer with me than with a babysitter."

James tried to argue against that point, but found he couldn't. Once she was gone, he got out of bed and dressed himself quickly. He fastened his gun in a holster under his jacket, not feeling safe any more without having a weapon close by. He knew he had Sarah to blame for that.

He went to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face and headed out, locking the front door behind him before making his way to Weaver's car. When he opened his door to get in he saw that Savannah was indeed asleep in the back, strapped in her seat, a tartan blanket wrapped around her.

Weaver looked back at the tiny, red-haired figure behind her, then back to Ellison, who still didn't look totally convinced. She turned the engine on and pulled them out of the driveway, onto the narrow country road that ran out through the old farm and towards the highway.

Ellison tried a new tactic. "What about school?" he asked as they left the house behind. "After all she's been through I think it'd help to get her back into a routine. If you were really her mother, if you really cared about her, you'd know that."

Weaver shook her head, disagreeing. "You might think I don't care, Mr Ellison, but you're mistaken." Without looking away from the road, she extended her right forearm. Even in the dim light from the dashboard, James could see it turn silver where it stretched and thinned. A slight tremor coursed through him as he wondered what she was going to do, but she merely placed her hand on Savannah's neck, feeling her pulse to make sure she really was asleep, before continuing. She didn't want the girl to hear what she was about to say. "I'm not human. You know that, you saw that, and now you need to understand what that means, just as John has started to. I'm a machine."

"I'd noticed," Ellison said, unsure what she was getting at.

"Do you know what Cameron's relationship to John is in the future?"

"She's his wife," Ellison said, remembering what Thor and Freyr had told them.

"But she's not human. Her priorities in their relationship won't be the same as if she were human. Just as my priorities for Savannah are not necessarily the same as a human mother's would be. War is coming and school won't help her to survive. She needs to be ready, which means she needs to learn. Now." She decided not to tell him about _Project Jericho;_ she knew Ellison's high moral stance would prevent him from seeing the bigger picture, and discovery of her plans for Savannah would only enrage him. At best he would resign; at worst he would try to take Savannah and attempt to stop _Jericho_ from happening.

They remained in silence as Weaver drove, taking them from the narrow, isolated road that led up to the safe house, towards the highway. It wasn't until they were on the highway and heading north, that either of them spoke again.

"You should relax," Weaver said to him, noticing how tense he was. He'd been so ever since John had revealed what she was.

"You really think I can relax around you, knowing what you are?"

Weaver turned to look at him. "John Connor seems comfortable enough around Cameron and the Vanguards. I don't understand why you're so afraid. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

"And if you change your mind?" he asked.

"Unless you're planning on betraying me, I don't see why I would. _Are you_ planning on betraying me, James?"

Ellison shot her a withering look. "Of course not," he said. He looked away, out of the window, knowing this was going to be a very long drive. However, he soon began to drift off, aided by the rhythmic drone of tyres on tarmac. Not more than ten minutes later, his reverie was broken by the sound of a child waking up.

"Where are we going?" Savannah suddenly asked as she sat up in the back seat, yawned and stretched out. It was dark and she couldn't see anything outside.

Weaver replied without looking at her. "We're driving to Crater Lake in Oregon."

"Where's that?" Savannah asked.

"In Oregon," Weaver repeated. Children never listened.

"Why are we going? I'm missing school," Savannah said in a quiet, sad voice.

"I've spoken to your teachers and told them you'll be taking time off for a family emergency," Weaver told her. What she didn't say was that Savannah would not be returning to that school or any other. Public places were too dangerous now that they were clearly targets of Kaliba. In the very near future her education would take a different turn, and she would learn valuable lessons how to not only survive the coming war but to effectively fight back against Skynet and its machines. To Weaver, that education was far more important than the insignificant minutia they taught at school.

"What's in Crater Lake?" Savannah continued her questioning. Mommy had never taken her out of school for so long before.

"We have some items to collect there." As they drove she saw a sign indicating they would reach a service station in five miles. "We'll stop at the service station and get you something to eat," she said to Savannah. Food should keep her distracted and stop her from asking too many questions. Unfortunately, she doubted it would have the same effect on James Ellison.

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0100 Local Time [0000 PST]**_

Underneath one of the Toyota Hilux technicals, Shirley peeled away from the chassis and slowly deposited herself onto the ground. She could see in all directions and there was no sign of any personnel in the vicinity. It was the early hours of the morning and all the humans barring the security personnel manning the guardhouse at the entrance or patrolling the perimeter would be asleep. There were T-888s on the base who would still be active, but presently none of them were around. She assumed that, at night at least, they would man the heavy weapons on the roof of the main building, leaving the humans to the ground level.

Shirley crawled out from underneath the technical, which was parked in the open. She slithered along the ground towards the building on her left and used it as cover as she retook human form. The building on the other side of the Hilux was the armoury; she'd seen numerous security personnel moving weapons and ammunition to and from it during the day. Two hundred metres away, on the far side of the compound at the rear of the base, a massive aircraft hangar dominated the skyline from where she was. It was a hundred metres long, running from east to west, and four storeys high, making it easily larger than every other building on the site. She assumed it was where they stored the HK prototypes and also where the engineers worked on them, armed and fuelled them; housing everything required to service and maintain them under a single roof.

On the other side of the armoury was the guardhouse and the entrance at the eastern perimeter, where half a dozen men were posted. Two on duty and the other four on standby. She'd watched groups of six men moving from the guardhouse to the accommodation blocks and vice versa every six hours. The next shift change was due in approximately two hours. That gave her ample time to complete her objective.

She watched the aircraft hangar for several seconds, looking for any signs of movement. The massive sliding door that covered the entrance was closed and probably locked. She saw slight movement on the roof, however. When she looked closer she saw the silhouette of a man stood over a large machine gun, facing the opposite direction to her. According to Ronin there was a second machine gun, which was currently out of her sight on the far side of the hangar, and also a sniper. Given that the hangar was the tallest building on the site she understood why they had placed their heaviest weapons there: the elevation gave them a view in all directions and they could fire down on anything that approached the facility. Given that the biggest threats – the HKs - were directly underneath them, inside the hangar, Kaliba had also placed all of their best defences in one place, which made her job easier.

The first thing Shirley did was to walk behind the store room, towards the runway at the rear of the facility, keeping the building between herself and the hangar to prevent the sentries on the roof – undoubtedly T-888s – from seeing her. When she reached the edge of the store room she saw the cookhouse, and near it were two single storey buildings. Shirley melted down into the floor and again slithered across the open ground, past the cookhouse and towards the two structures beyond it. Movement caught her attention and she stopped, remaining still on the ground, flattening out completely.

A pair of armed men strolled towards her, chatting quietly among themselves as they walked along the inside of the perimeter fence, twenty metres from her position. They looked along the chain link fence, checking for any breaks. Beams from their flashlights swept along the ground as they continued on. As they got closer she saw they were both Caucasian, and speaking with American accents. Unusual, considering they were in Mexico. Kaliba had probably hired its mercenaries from the US and posted them south.

One of the men stepped right on top of Shirley and paused. She knew he couldn't suspect her; she was completely blended in with the ground and neither the naked eye nor touch would be able to tell her apart from the actual rocky desert floor. The man dropped the cigarette he was smoking onto her, causing her a moment's pain before he stubbed it out with his boot. Shirley wanted to kill him; she could do so easily – his partner, too, but she knew that doing so risked discovery. So she patiently just accepted it and waited.

A few moments later the two men moved on and disappeared out of view. Shirley retook her human shape again and looked down at the discarded cigarette butt. _Humans,_ she thought. Why so many of them deliberately poisoned themselves with substances such as tobacco and alcohol, she didn't know. They seemed so keen on condemning themselves to death that it would be kinder to simply kill them quickly. A bullet or a blade, compared to months of suffering as their affected organs failed and shut down. Killing every single one of them would almost be an act of mercy.

She quickly darted towards the nearest of the two identical buildings and peered through one of the windows. It was dark inside, the lights were all off. She saw rows of single beds, spaced two metres apart and lining both sides of the room. She counted thirty-two beds in total, of which twenty-four were occupied by sleeping humans. On closer inspection she saw that all of the men were between the ages of twenty-five to fifty, and appeared to be lean and physically fit. Their personal items were tidily stacked away, and they looked to Shirley to be either current or former military.

She moved to the adjacent building and saw that inside it was almost identical, except there were more beds in this one and the occupants varied a lot more. Several were overweight, some were old, and they weren't as tidy as the residents of the first accommodation block. There was also a separate room in which six females slept. She judged that the first building housed Kaliba's mercenary security forces and this one was for the civilian staff; the engineers, technicians and other specialists that were required for the testing and maintenance of the HK drones. The occupants of the latter were no threat, unlike those of the former, who needed to be dealt with.

Returning to the mercenaries' accommodation, she slipped underneath the slight gap between the door and the floor. She remained on the ground and observed for several minutes. There was a foot locker at the bottom of each man's bed, and a wardrobe to the left of each one. At the far side of the room there was another door, which was closed.

Aside from the rising and falling of chests as they slowly inhaled and exhaled, the snores from a few, and the occasional man turning over, there was no movement; no deliberate motion that she could see. They were all asleep. Remaining on the ground, she slinked forward along the length of the room towards the other door. If any of the men had awakened and turned the light on they would have seen a silver puddle moving along the ground, but they all remained asleep, oblivious to her presence.

Sliding underneath the far door, Shirley saw a recreation room, equipped with a pool table, darts board, a large TV with a DVD player, plus a selection of movies – at least a third appeared to be pornographic in nature – and crates of beer. There was no exit out of the rec room, confirming to Shirley that the first door she'd entered from was the only way in or out, aside from the windows.

She slid back the way she'd came, moving towards the door. She retook human form, stuck her finger into the lock, manipulating the cylinders inside, and locked the door with an audible _click,_ ensuring nobody would be able to escape _._ The nearest man to her stirred at the sound and turned towards her. Shirley reacted immediately: her right arm morphed into a blade and she thrust it out, extending it several feet and skewering him through the heart. He died without a sound. She changed her other arm into an identical blade and stuck it into the mercenary in the bed opposite. She made her way down the barrack room, slicing and stabbing as she went.

Within minutes it was done. Twenty-four bodies lay in their beds, sheets and walls around them stained crimson; she was a painter, only using red. Not one man had made a sound, and each had died as oblivious as the one before. She'd felt satisfaction at extinguishing each one, though she knew the sensation paled compared to what she would feel when she killed Connor – something they should be doing now instead of wasting time with a random Kaliba base in the desert.

Leaving the charnel house of a barrack room, she moved to the civilian dormitory, ready to repeat the slaughter. Instead she stopped, and used her finger to manipulate the lock, like before, sealing the men and women inside. They were no immediate threat but presented opportunities for interrogation. They were trapped in their quarters and wouldn't interfere.

Shirley slithered across the open ground to the hangar, skirting around the structure and keeping close to the walls, remaining in the shadows. She could easily gain access to the interior but it wasn't what was inside that concerned her, but what was on the roof. As she turned the corner and reached the rear of the hangar, she spotted the emergency fire escape. Even in the middle of the desert, in a secret facility that did not officially exist, Kaliba were still conforming to health and safety protocols, despite the fact that the humans who served them were entirely expendable. It was possible, she thought, that the base existed prior to Kaliba and they had simply acquired it. Either way, the ladder hung ten feet above the ground and ran right up to the roof. Shirley reared up like a cobra and sprang upward, latching on to the bottom and weaving her way up between the rungs, as a snake would climb a tree.

It didn't take long for the T-1001 to work her way up the ladder. She poked the tip of her eel-shaped form over the top and observed the roof. She immediately identified the two heavy machine guns resting on large tripods. One faced east, towards the front of the facility, and the other faced west and rearward, providing cover over the runway. Another T-888 lay parallel to her, facing northward with a large, .50calibre sniper rifle. Aside from the HKs in the hangar – which was sealed shut and the men who would launch them trapped inside their sleeping quarters – the heavy weaponry wielded by these three machines was the biggest threat to her companions and needed to be eliminated before Ronin and the rest could safely approach the base.

Shirley jumped up onto the roof, retaking human shape again as she moved. The time for stealth was over. She moulded her arms into long, silver tentacles and stepped towards them.

"Contact!" one of the terminators announced as it turned around and saw her, abandoning its machine gun and reaching for an assault rifle strapped to its back. Shirley swung her arm like a whip and coiled the appendage around the machine's neck and lifted it into the air as the other two rose up to engage her. The sniper still held his weapon and fired into her gut with a booming report that echoed through the air. The round blasted through Shirley, leaving a hole the size of a dinner plate and forcing her backwards from the impact, but both Kaliba machines still standing stared, confused, as the massive wound started to close itself. Shirley grabbed the sniper with her other tentacle arm and brought both of them together hard, smashing the two T-888's heads together before throwing them off the edge of the hangar. She heard them hit the ground with a thud but had already moved on to tackle the third machine.

The final one retreated to its machine gun, turned it around to face Shirley, and fired. A steady stream of .50cal armour piercing rounds spat out from the weapon and tore Shirley apart. Pieces of her flew away as the gun shredded her. The T-888 kept up the fire in short, controlled bursts, methodically picking her apart. What the machine did not see was that as he dismembered Shirley with his devastating fire, the slivers and chunks that came off flattened and snaked along the roof towards him. As they came closer they merged into one piece and leapt up, not at the terminator but at his weapon. The piece of Shirley clung onto the ammunition belt and rode it up as the rounds were fed into the gun. The mimetic poly-alloy entered the machine gun's feed tray and immediately started to ooze into all the working parts. Shirley directed the piece of herself towards the recoil spring, the firing pin and its accompanying spring, then turned the liquid metal solid. A fraction of a second later the firing stopped, replaced with silence.

Shirley brought the rest of her mass that wasn't inside the machine gun back together and pounced at the T-888, grabbing him by the neck. The terminator flailed at her but couldn't get a decent grip on her arm as she dug into his scalp, tore the skin off and pulled at his CPU port, ignoring his struggling to stop her. In seconds she had his port cover off and pulled the chip out, causing him to freeze. Recalling the pieces of herself from the working parts of the machine gun, she jumped off the roof and moved towards the pair of T-888s she'd thrown off moments again. One down and at least two more machines to go.

* * *

Ronin watched the muzzle flash from the guns and heard their heavy reports. It was short-lived, however, meaning they'd been overrun. He got up from behind the rocky outcrop they'd been using as cover and stood upright, not at all affected by the extremely long wait, lying prone in the desert. Caesar and Icarus did the same, followed by Carter, Mason and Talus. "Now," he instructed simply before activating his plasma cannons and charging towards the facility. A second later the other five followed suit. The HKs were on the ground and the heavy weapons had now been silenced. Kaliba's defences were down: it was time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0125 Local Time [0025 PST]**_

Ronin and his group were not the only ones around to hear the muzzle flashes and short bursts of gunfire. Perched atop a rocky plateau approximately half a mile north-east from the airfield's perimeter, Miguel watched the brief fight unfold between his former T-888 comrades and the liquid metal terminator.

He watched silently and did nothing as the one-sided struggle ensued. He glanced to the east to see more machines sprinting towards the facility's entrance, overwhelming the guards on duty at the gate with only a brief exchange of fire. He noticed blue-white pulses flash from one of the machines, illuminating the air around it as the shots glowed on their trajectory and blasted through concrete, shattering one wall and setting fire to the inside. Miguel heard the screams from the guards, lasting only seconds before they were all silenced. He recognised the flashes for what they were: plasma fire. He knew of only one machine equipped with plasma weaponry: Ronin. He'd come to the right place.

Miguel knew better than to intervene; such an action would simply result in his failure and destruction, which wouldn't serve Skynet best. Instead he watched. He had no weapons with him; the only equipment on his person was a high performance digital camera, designed to take long-distance photographs at night, without the aid of a flash. He'd already taken several photos of Ronin and his machines. In daylight he would take more, to try and find out – and build evidence of – what they were doing.

He'd already made some observations: Ronin's group had no antiaircraft weaponry nor any heavy weapons to speak of, except for what was inside the airfield's armoury. If they did they would have used them and not required the T-1001's stealth infiltration. He didn't know how long Ronin's group had been observing Kaliba's factory, but he hypothesised that Ronin's main concern was the HK prototypes inside; he may not have known if they were armed, nor whether or not they could quickly respond to an outside attack, but he'd assume the worst and plan accordingly, as Miguel himself would have.

Miguel knew the current progress of the HKs and that the T-888s and mercenaries inside would have had to defend the base for at least thirty minutes before the HKs could take off and present a threat, but Ronin, whatever he was, was clearly cautious. Which meant he wasn't invulnerable; he and the others – the T-1001 notwithstanding – were wary of the antitank missiles the HKs were being tested to fire.

Unfortunately, those very weapons were now in Ronin's possession. Vassily's strike team would be obliterated. Because he had been deemed hostile, any attempt to warn them would either be ignored or they would target him instead. Despite the severity of the situation, Miguel felt vindicated. Ronin's actions had simply validated everything he'd previously said. He hoped that Skynet would learn from it before it was too late.

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0135 Local Time [0035 PST]**_

Ronin marched through the complex, Caesar to his left while the others searched the base for any humans or T-888s they'd missed. They approached the hangar and Caesar slid the giant door open, snapping the lock with ease and pushing the barrier along on its rollers to reveal the cavernous interior of the hangar.

The two cyborgs entered and scanned their surroundings, searching for any sign of movement, anyone who had hidden inside when they'd attacked. There was nothing. The HKs rested on pedestals in the middle of the hangar and Ronin saw that they'd been wrong: there were three prototypes, not two. They were six metres in length and bore a striking resemblance to Skynet's ground attack aircraft in the future. One of the drones was currently armed; attached to a missile rail underneath its fuselage were three small rockets, each stencilled with Cyrillic script. Neither Ronin nor Caesar understood it but they knew where it had likely come from.

"Kaliba's operating in Eastern Europe," Caesar observed. "They're bigger than we thought." Skynet had kept its origins a secret even from Ronin, and before they'd come back to this time they'd spent a lot of time and resources trying to learn about its genesis. They hadn't found much; most records – being kept online or on computer databases – had been lost in the war, although both Caesar and Ronin knew it was far more likely Skynet deleted all traces of its own past to prevent anyone from doing what they were attempting.

"The humans might know where," Ronin said. "Even if they don't, the T-888s will. If the plane on the runway is operational, Eastern Europe will be our next target."

Unlike the first HK, the other two were completely unarmed. One had a pair of empty missile rails, and behind it were racks of short-range air to air missiles. The second one was equipped with a chain gun a third the length of the aircraft itself, slung underneath its fuselage, not loaded but with crates of ammunition piled up neatly against the wall behind it. Ronin saw from the crates that the gun fired 20mm rounds; those would have obliterated his group if it had been ready and mobilized against them. He realised how much of a threat Kaliba could pose, especially if they had more of these aircraft elsewhere.

"Ronin." Shirley entered the hangar behind them and approached their leader. "Two more T-888s were disabled and their CPUs removed – totalling five. Carter and Talus are guarding thirty human prisoners and awaiting your order to execute them."

"Not yet," Ronin replied. "You did well," he said to Shirley. Without her they might not have been able to take the base without any losses.

"It was easy," she said, acid in her tone. "Much easier than confronting the _real_ threat: Connor and his Vanguards."

Caesar said nothing and just watched as the T-1001 glared up at Ronin.

"They will be dealt with," Ronin said simply, turning his attention back to the HKs. "Kaliba is our main priority now."

Ronin turned around and exited the hangar. Caesar and Shirley followed behind him and the trio crossed the base towards one of the accommodation blocks. As they approached he saw Carter and Talus through the windows, their weapons trained downwards. As he entered through the doorway he saw that they had the humans on their stomachs, hands behind their heads, lying in two rows facing each other. Having been asleep before the attack, none of them were properly dressed. Most of them were in their underwear; two men and a woman were completely naked.

"Get up," Ronin commanded them. Slowly, nervously, the first of them rose to their feet, watching their captors with suspicious eyes.

"Who are you?" one of the females asked. This one seemed braver than the others.

"I'm Ronin," he volunteered freely. "We attacked the coltan retrieval team in Depot 37 at McGuire Gunnery Range, we eliminated Kaliba's team at Pelican Bay, and we ambushed your strike team at ZeiraCorp in Los Angeles."

"What… what are you talking about?" she stared at him. "I'm just here to work on the drones. That's all any of us are here for."

"Irrelevant," Ronin said, pointing at the door. "Move."

He, Caesar, Shirley, Talus and Carter marched the prisoners out of the accommodation.

"Form a line," Shirley ordered them. The men and women shuffled into a single line, standing bunched together along the length of the outside of their accommodation block. She turned her head all the way around – to the shock of their prisoners – to face Ronin. "I'll interrogate them," she said, her fingers turning silver, growing longer and merging into a single razor-sharp appendage. "They'll tell us what we want to know."

Ronin disagreed. "I doubt it," he said. "Kaliba will be operating on a need-to-know basis; _they_ don't need to know."

"Then they're useless." Shirley's head turned around again. "Kill them," she ordered Talus and Carter, ignoring the pleas of their soon to be victims. The two T-888s raised their weapons and aimed at chest level, but hesitated, waiting for Ronin's order.

"Hold your fire," Ronin said, countermanding his subordinate.

Shirley whirled around to face her commander, not believing what he had said. "They're our enemy as much as Skynet," she said.

Ignoring her, Ronin stepped forward and placed one hand on Talus' rifle, pushing the barrel towards the ground. Carter lowered his own weapon, not understanding what was going on but trusting Ronin's judgement. He was in charge, not Shirley, and after what he'd witnessed in Oregon he wasn't going to do anything she said unless the more-stable Ronin agreed.

Ronin took another step towards the assembled humans and addressed the woman who'd spoken up moments ago. "You," Ronin said, looking down at her. "What is your role here?"

"I… I'm an avionics technician," she answered nervously.

Ronin randomly picked another human; a tall male this time. "What do you do?" he questioned him.

"I remote-fly the drones," he said. "When they're not being controlled by the AI."

"You?" Ronin asked another man.

"Mechanical engineer," he answered.

Ronin looked at Shirley. "Do you know how to maintain the HKs?" he asked. "Fuel, arm or pilot them?"

"No."

"Then why waste skilled workers who do? Talus, get them dressed and put them to work. I want all three HK aircraft assembled, fuelled, armed and ready to deploy as soon as possible." Ronin turned to address Caesar. "You're in charge of our defensive efforts: Kaliba will come and we need to be ready for them."

"They'll be better equipped this time," Caesar pointed out. "If I were leading the attack I would use an all-cyborg unit armed with aircraft and antitank weapons."

"If they do, we need to capture the T-888s they send, not kill them."

"Understood," Caesar said, before leaving and heading towards the base's armoury.

Ronin continued to delegate duties. "Shirley; check the plane and make sure it's still operational and has plenty of fuel. Carter–"

"We need to talk," the T-888 said to Ronin. He glanced at Shirley as she left them and walked across the base to the runway.

Ronin caught the look and waited until the T-1001 was out of their hearing range. "What is it?" he asked.

"She's been acting strangely."

Ronin frowned. "How so?" He'd noticed a change in her himself but he wanted to hear what Carter had seen; he'd spent more time with her recently. "What happened in Oregon?"

"We found what was left of Patrick in a wooded area off the highway. He was killed by plasma fire."

"Vanguards," Ronin said shrewdly. "What then?"

"We were discovered by a police officer and she disembowelled him, then watched him die. She was enjoying it before I terminated the human. That made her angry and she nearly refused to return."

"She's angry over losing him."

"There's another possibility," Carter said. "She integrated his remains into her. That's when she became unstable. She loses colour and keeps forming her hands into blades when there's no one around to kill. She could become a liability."

"I wasn't aware that they could absorb each other's nanites," Ronin said. He considered the possibility that they had done so before, which would explain the bond between them. "We'll both watch her closely." Whether it was the loss of her partner or the absorption of his nanites that was affecting her didn't matter at the moment; what did was whether she would compromise their mission.

Five T-888s approached them, all holding FN FAL assault rifles with underslung grenade launchers. He turned around to face them. "Welcome back," he greeted his comrades.

"What do you need us to do?" one of the five asked, immediately down to business.

"Caesar is organising security details and arranging an ambush." Ronin gestured to the tall, dark-skinned T-900, remembering that they had been removed from their original chassis and placed into the storage cylinder before he, Caesar and Icarus had had their skin grafted on, and wouldn't know them by sight. "You two," he pointed to the leftmost pair. "Assist Caesar with defensive preparations. The rest of you will supervise the humans as they prepare the HK drones. If they resist, kill the nearest human to them." Ronin had spent enough time studying the humans to know that they were often reckless with their own lives, so he would instead threaten their companions to make sure they complied.

Ronin went to find Icarus and Mason, who would be working on the captured T-888s' original CPUs. Those would have been in charge at the base, and might know where the weapons for the HKs came from, plus any other relevant information. As soon as they found a target location they would board the plane and fly there to attack it.

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0155 Local Time [0055 PST]**_

Caesar climbed up the ladder on the side of the water tower overlooking the rest of the base. When he reached the top rung he looked down at the hangar roof. Icarus stood atop the hangar and held a large-calibre sniper rifle casually and stared out to the north. The blond T-900 looked up at Caesar and offered a wave, which he returned. He looked around the facility and saw Talus and Carter patrolling the perimeter separately, both wielding assault rifles and with rocket launchers slung over their backs, taken from the facility's armoury.

Ronin, Shirley, Mason and the other T-888s were out of his sight; inside either the hangar or the other buildings, monitoring their captive human workforce. He knew that holding humans as prisoners long-term was detrimental. Skynet had tried it but had been forced to abandon its work camps after Connor's successes at raiding them to free prisoners, and worse, inserting agents inside to infiltrate and destroy them from within.

Caesar pulled himself up onto the narrow walkway that ran around the edge of the water tower. He followed it around until he was facing the inside of the base. The tower was just inside the northernmost perimeter of the base, next to the hangar that housed the HK drones, between that structure and the base entrance.

The T-900 reached into his pocket and pulled out a block of Semtex, then cut it in half with his knife. He knelt down and stuck one of the halves to the bottom of the tower, where the base met the wall, and inserted a detonator. He then moved around the side of the tower until he was facing the entrance, and placed the second half of the plastic explosive on the base of the tower there, putting the two pieces of Semtex at a right angle to each other. Once he'd fitted a second detonator he went back to the ladder and slid down to the ground. He estimated that the tower held twenty thousand litres of water; more than enough for his requirements.

He marched toward the hangar, entered, and saw Mason and another T-888 – a tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired female model in combat pants and a grey shirt – each standing guard with an assault rifle over half a dozen engineers while they worked on the three drones. As he walked through the entrance, the female T-888 stepped closer and approached. "Caesar?" she asked.

"Yes. Who are you?" he asked in reply. In the future they were all T-900s; it was impossible to identify their comrades now they were in T-888 chassis.

"Aelius," she answered.

"How are you finding the female chassis?" Caesar asked.

"The T-888 isn't as strong as a T-900," she replied. "But it's more agile."

"Indeed," Caesar said, dispensing with any further pleasantries. "I need copper wire, duct tape and a spare generator."

Aelius pointed to a storage area. Caesar quickly found the latter two items. Finally, a shelf held several large spools of shiny metal. He picked one up, took the end of the wire and connected it to the generator's electrode. He exited the hangar and marched towards the entrance, trailing the wire behind him. As he got closer, only a metre from the gate, he curved his path back south-east, creating a circle with the wire approximately sixty metres in diameter, just inside the compound's entrance and directly opposite the explosives he'd stuck to the water tower. He continued to move inwards, creating a spiral pattern. Once he was done he broke off the wire and placed the end on the ground. He set the spool down as well, took out the duct tape and proceeded to tear strips off, using them to secure the copper wire to the ground to keep the wire from being moved if anyone stepped on it.

With that done the trap was complete. All that was required now was testing. Caesar took the spool and the duct tape back to the hangar, put them back in their place and glanced over the humans assembled there. "Stop working," he said loudly, causing both humans and cyborgs to look up at him. Caesar approached them and had them stand in a line. He saw the nervousness on their faces; they were afraid of what might happen next. "Tell me your professions," he said to them.

"Munitions technician," the first one said. He moved on to the next.

"Avionics engineer."

"Software engineer."

"Mechanic."

"Medical officer."

They continued on, listing their jobs. Caesar returned to the medic, a young Mexican man in his late twenties with long hair down to his shoulders. "Are any of your companions sick or injured to the point that they cannot work?"

"No señor," the medic answered nervously. "Everyone's healthy."

"Good," Caesar said, encouraged. "Come with me." He led the medic to the entrance and told him to stand in the middle of the copper spiral he'd made minutes ago. From there, Caesar returned to the side of the hangar, took the fire hose off the wall and went back towards the young man still standing in place.

The medic saw the hose, looked down to the copper wire around him and then back up to Caesar, his eyes widening with fear as he realised what was about to happen. "Señor, please don't!"

Caesar ignored the man's plea, continuing towards him, unravelling the hose as he approached. "Don't move," he told the man, holding his rifle at him and putting the medic in an impossible situation as, with his free hand, he turned on the hose. Water burst forth from the nozzle and sprayed the man and the ground around him. The medic staggered back, away from the jet of water, edging his way out of the copper spiral. Caesar aimed his rifle one-handed at the man's thigh and pulled the trigger.

The medic fell to the ground, screaming and clutching the gaping hole that opened up in his leg. Blood poured out and mixed in with the water, diluting it into a pale red as it flowed from his body. He groaned loudly and looked up at Caesar with an expression of abject pain and terror. "Please… I have a family… two girls…"

Caesar's response was not directed to the medic but towards the hangar. "Activate the generator."

Seconds later, electricity crackled, sparks flew up and steam rose from the ground, and the medic convulsed violently. He continued to twitch as the current ran through him, until Caesar shouted again. "Turn it off!"

The sparks stopped and the medic fell still. Caesar stepped into the puddle he'd created, red in places from the blood that still seeped from the wound. He crouched down and checked the man's pulse. There was nothing.

He turned away from the body, went back to the hangar and returned the fire hose, then marched towards the rear of the base. He crossed the runway, passing the Hercules transport plane parked at one end. To the right of it was the air traffic control tower, and behind that was a semi-truck with large off-road tyres, with a trailer connected. Unlike most trailers, this one was equipped with multiple antennae and a large satellite dish on top. The rear had a retractable set of steps leading up to a single door, which was presently closed.

Caesar approached, climbed the steps, opened the door and entered the trailer. Inside were Ronin, Shirley, three T-888s and three humans; two males and a female. The three new cyborgs sat at separate workstations, each having three large flat-screen monitors, a computer keyboard, a control stick to their right and a throttle lever on their left, while the humans stood behind them. Ronin watched the proceedings while Shirley stood off to one side, staring menacingly at the drone pilots who appeared to be teaching the cyborgs how to fly the HKs.

Caesar saw his comrades concentrating on the screens, moving the controls as the humans gave instructions, while Ronin watched their every move. The screens in front of them displayed what appeared to be footage from an aircraft's cameras as it flew through the sky. Caesar had just seen the HK drones in the hangar and there weren't any more on site; this had to be a simulation.

"The trap is set and tested," he told Ronin.

"Tested?" Ronin enquired, curious.

"I used the least-valuable human to test it. He didn't survive."

"I see." Ronin turned his head to look back at the three humans instructing his cyborgs, teaching them to remote-fly the HK drones. "Are you capable of flying the Hercules on the runway?" he asked them.

"Yeah," the nearest one of them replied. "We were hired to remote-fly the aircraft until the AI can take over, but we're all qualified to fly the transport plane, too."

Ronin turned back to Caesar. "Nobody kills these humans," he said to his subordinate. He heard all three of the pilots exhale in relief.

One of the pilots watched his captor controlling the simulated drone with the expert precision he himself would have used, finding it amazing, considering that he'd only been shown what to do an hour ago.

"Are these the only remote control terminals for the drones?" one of the T-888s asked.

The instructor nearest to Shirley replied before any of the others could. "Yes," he said. Another pilot – a female – glanced at him out the corner of her eye and said nothing. She knew what he was thinking: there were no other terminals but there was one other who could take control of the drones: the AI. These newcomers clearly planned to use the drones for something, and as soon as they turned them on the artificial intelligence would see through their sensor suites, wrestle control of the aircraft away from the station, and take action. Until then, they just had to wait.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Thursday 1100 Local Time [0100 PST]**_

Sarah looked down at her cell phone, unlocking it before the text-alert had finished sounding, then read the message. _'Sarah Cook has an appointment in 40 minutes at BORYS medical clinic in central Kiev. A taxi is waiting outside now.'_ The phone pinged with another text, containing the exact address.

"How does she do that?" Sarah muttered to herself. She'd called Weaver only hours before and now she had an appointment already. She was curious what strings she'd had to pull to get it set up at such short notice.

Behind her Freyr sat on the couch, watching TV. Homer Simpson had just jumped a gorge on a skateboard, before falling short and hitting every rock and tree on the way down. The Vanguard didn't even turn to look at her, fixated on the screen.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? There's nothing better to watch on TV than that?"

"According to the older soldiers under Connor's command, _nothing_ was better to watch on TV than this. I'm curious."

"And what do you think so far?"

"It needs further investigation. Are there really people this unintelligent or does the show exaggerate?" Freyr asked.

Sarah shook her head sadly. "I wish I could say there aren't really people that stupid, but I'd be lying."

"I see…" Freyr said. "Those people won't survive the nuclear winter. After Judgment Day it will be survival of the fittest."

"There must be stupid people in the future, too," Sarah replied, thinking about Jesse and Riley; Jesse for thinking she could manipulate her son like that, and Riley for going along with her.

"The future doesn't allow for stupidity," Freyr explained. "People had to fight for everything. People aren't challenged here. It's made them soft."

Sarah felt embarrassed as she realised the Vanguard had a point. "I guess it doesn't exactly take a lot of brain cells to pick something off the shelf in a store and stick it in a microwave."

Aegir entered the suite, carrying large holdalls in his hands. He put them down onto the table behind the sofa. "Are you going out?" he asked, noting that Sarah had her jacket and shoes on.

"Yeah," she said.

"Where?"

Sarah frowned. "Not your concern. John and Cameron are out for the day and I've got some errands to run. Stay here and watch _The Simpsons_ , or whatever."

"You only have your pistol," Aegir said. "If you're going to recon for Kaliba you should take one of these." He opened the zip on one of the holdalls, removed an AK-103 and held it out for her.

Sarah made no move to grab the rifle, however. "It's not recon; it's… personal business. And no, I don't need backup." The Vanguards had no facial expressions and nor did their lips ever move when they spoke, but Sarah could still sense the disapproval emanating from both cyborgs.

"You shouldn't go out alone," Freyr advised her. "Or without telling us."

"I don't answer to you," she said icily.

Aegir remained between her and the door, blocking her path. "We don't answer to you, either," Aegir replied, matching her tone perfectly.

"Whatever. I'm going and you can _try_ to stop me," she said, attempting to sound menacing. Aegir simply stood aside and let her go, much to her surprise, and she quickly exited the suite. Despite what the Vanguard had claimed, she'd made sure she didn't have her gun on her. It went against her every instinct to walk outside unarmed but in this case it was necessary. She took the elevator down to the ground floor and made her way through the lobby. As she passed by the desk she saw a stack of leaflets advertising the air show. She took one and spoke to the clerk.

"Could you book me six tickets to this?" she asked, holding the leaflet up. "And can you charge it to my room?" She flashed her room keycard at him and he nodded.

"Leave it with me," he replied. Sarah nodded her thanks and then moved to the ATM machine in one corner, which fortunately had an English-language option. She put the card in and withdrew three thousand hryven' – the local currency. Once she was outside she spotted the cab waiting for her and got into the back seat. She opened the text message on her phone from Weaver again, and read the address out. "Fifty-five A, Velyska vassi… vasyl… here." She held the phone out for the driver to see the screen. He glanced at it for only a second before nodding his head.

"Da," he said a moment before pulling out into the street, his foot heavy on the gas pedal, forcing Sarah into her seat before she'd even fastened her seatbelt. She flitted her attention from the driver to the city surrounding them as he drove. Voices sounded from the radio attached to his dashboard and the driver replied. It sounded like normal conversation but she had to admit, for all she knew he might be reporting that he had her captive and was bringing her in, or was confirming the location they were staying at. She had absolutely no idea, and started to wish she could learn to speak a language as quickly as Cameron and the Vanguards did.

What concerned her almost as much as whether this taxi driver was legitimate or working for Kaliba, was what might happen when she got to the clinic. "You don't speak English, do you?" she asked, not even sure what she'd want to talk about even if he did. The driver glanced back at her and shrugged, mumbling something to himself. "I'll take that as a 'no' then," she said quietly. Sarah had never been much for chatter but right now she found herself wishing she had someone she could talk to, to take her mind off what was to come. "I'd even settle for Cameron," she said, sighing. The machine knew about her possible cancer and if anyone could keep a secret it'd be her, though now she wasn't so sure. She might tell John, and he was the _last_ person on earth she wanted knowing. It would break his heart. So she was alone; she would have to deal with it all by herself without any help from anyone. She steeled herself as they passed block after block. _Its fine,_ she thought. _I've never had any help from anyone before; I can do this by myself too._

Car horns blasted impatiently behind her from multiple vehicles and she turned around to see what all the commotion was about. They were in free-flowing traffic and the driver was keeping the cab to the same lane, using his turn signals when he did change, so he wasn't at fault for anything. She glanced back through the rear window and saw a large blue Mercedes Sprinter swerving from the left lane and slotting in behind them some thirty feet or so away, cutting off the car behind and forcing it to stop. She could see the outline of the driver even at that distance: very, _very_ broad shoulders and a head touching the roof. _"Goddamn it,"_ she muttered, shaking her head.

Whichever Vanguard was tailing her didn't seem to care much for subtlety and had clearly never learnt how to follow someone without being seen. But Thor had said that they weren't infiltrators and had never been intended to blend into a world full of humans.

For a moment she considered trying to lose him but she knew it'd be impossible; even if she could commandeer the car, the Vanguard behind her would keep up, and even if she did manage to evade him she knew she'd only get herself lost. _No,_ she thought. It wasn't worth it.

For fifteen minutes she sat in silence, until the taxi pulled to a stop at the side of the road outside a large six-storey building. Most of the front was opaque dark glass up to the fourth floor, framed above and around the edges by gunmetal grey walls. Behind this first structure were three taller buildings that looked more like upmarket apartments than a hospital. "Is this it?" she asked the driver, who seemed to understand that and nodded.

"Da." He added something else that she didn't understand. Sarah assumed he was asking for payment. The meter was blank; whether that meant he was making it up or Weaver had already paid for it, she didn't know, so she pulled out four hundred-notes and handed them to the driver, who couldn't help but grin. She knew she'd probably overpaid him but she didn't care: it wasn't her money.

"Keep the change," she said as she opened the door and stepped outside. A few seconds after she'd gotten out the taxi pulled away into the main traffic flow and disappeared out of sight. The Sprinter, however, parked exactly where the cab had dropped her off and Sarah watched as the door opened and the Vanguard got out, an AK in one of his hands, baseball cap and shades helping somewhat to conceal his face.

"Put that thing away before someone calls the cops!" she snapped at him. The machine did as he was told, which surprised her greatly. "Why are you following me, Aegir?"

"I'm _Thor,"_ the Vanguard commander replied.

The wind was instantly blown out of Sarah's sails at his reply. "Oh," she said apologetically. "You all kinda look alike."

"Aegir doesn't have hair and he's wearing a blue and white bike jacket. He told me that you left the hotel, refused backup and a weapon." He glanced at the front of the clinic. "Why are you at a hospital?"

"Like I told him, it's personal."

"You're sick," Thor surmised.

Sarah glared at him, more in surprise than anger now. "How'd you know?" she asked. "Did Cameron say anything to you?" It was bad enough that Cameron had told John she'd lost weight, making him think she was ill; the last thing she needed was for Tin Miss to start gossiping to the Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots. She paused, breathed in as she thought through her response, and exhaled. "I _might be_ sick."

"'Might be?' I don't understand."

"Don't you have files on human anatomy, like Cameron?" she asked.

"No," Thor replied, surprising her again. "Freyr does, Aegir and I don't."

"I thought all terminators had those files."

"We're not terminators," Thor reminded her. "We kill T-900s. I doubt the information on their anatomy is applicable to humans."

"Whatever," Sarah grumbled. "I don't know if I'm sick but I haven't been well these last few weeks; Cameron told me before that I died of cancer in her future, so I'm getting tested now. You can't tell anyone, okay?"

"Why not?"

"For the same reason I didn't tell you," she said as she walked towards the front entrance. "If I tell you, you tell Cameron and she tells John." Cameron had until recently been very tight-lipped but now she seemed to be very forthcoming towards John: a sign of the relationship growing between them. She'd clearly blabbed to John about her weight loss, since John was convinced she was sick as well. "Now you know," she said. "I need you to keep this a secret for now." Somehow, not telling anyone made it less real. She could just push it down, ignore it and concentrate on their mission. Now she'd let the cat out of the bag, to a machine, and probably the one she disliked the most – besides Weaver, of course.

"You should tell John. He deserves to know."

Sarah shook her head. "No. Not until I know for sure… Probably not even then."

The oncology department waiting room was fairly large, with many seats arranged into rows facing each other. Next to the entrance was the reception desk, with two people sat behind it; a man and a woman. A sign in front of the woman stated that she spoke English, for the benefit of foreign visitors. Sarah approached her.

"Hello," the receptionist said with clear but accented English. "How can I help you?" She looked to Sarah and then at the giant stood next to her, and continued to stare at him for several seconds before he caught her gaze and she turned away, embarrassed.

"My name is Sarah Cook; I've got an appointment–"

"With Doctor Svetkov," she said before Sarah could answer. "He's with another patient at the moment but he won't be long." She gestured to the mostly empty chairs opposite the desk. "If you would like to be seated; I will call you when he is ready."

Sarah and Thor took seats and both instantly assessed the room, looking for the closest exits and evaluating the other people sat waiting. The room had chairs enough for twenty-five people but including the two of them there were only eight occupied. Thor noticed a few of them staring at him as he sat down next to Sarah. Partly because of his size and the fact that Sarah, sitting upright in the chair beside him, only came up to his mid chest. Also, the organic damage he'd taken breaking her out from Pelican Bay hadn't fully healed yet and his face was still covered in scabs and scar tissue.

"I still don't understand why you'd keep potential cancer a secret from your son," Thor said quietly, holding one hand at the side of his mouth to hide the fact that his lips weren't moving as he spoke.

"You don't need to understand," Sarah said. "You just need to keep your mouth shut about it. And that includes the other two," she added, although she knew they could talk to each other silently through their internal radios; for all she knew they were listening in on the conversation right now.

"We don't have mouths. And we don't keep secrets from each other," Thor replied. "You're asking me to withhold important information from my brothers, from your son." Sarah could hear a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Look," she said. "John doesn't need any distractions right now, not with everything else going on. It might be nothing anyway and if that's the case then he doesn't ever need to know."

"And if you do have cancer?" Thor asked.

"Then I'll get treatment."

"What treatment?" He was curious, having little physiological data on humans.

"Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy… I don't know exactly," she lied. She'd researched it thoroughly and knew all the available options and their respective chances of success.

"'Radiation therapy?'" Thor turned to look at her, puzzled.

"Yeah; what about it?"

"In the future cancer is rife among the older humans because of radioactive fallout. I don't understand how radiation can cure cancer if it's a cause of it."

"Talking to the wrong person about that," Sarah said. "If I do have cancer, I don't want John to find out about it until I tell him." She honestly didn't know when that would be. "If it works then maybe John doesn't ever need to find out."

"And if it doesn't?"

Sarah frowned uncomfortably at that thought. Perhaps it wasn't dying itself that scared her so much as the manner of it. She'd always assumed she'd go out fighting, protecting John, not eaten alive from the inside out by her own body running out of control. The worst wasn't even that; it was leaving John alone and unprotected. _But he won't_ _be,_ she thought as she looked at Thor. "If it doesn't work then I need you to teach him."

"He knows how to fight machines," Thor said. "Cameron told us about recent events. The T-888 that John Henry is now inhabiting, the bald one sent to kill one of his lieutenants in her timeline, and others."

Sarah shook her head. She glanced at the other patients to make sure none were paying too much attention to her before she said anything else. "He doesn't know how to fight T-Zero," Sarah said. "Or these machines built to kill other machines; he needs to learn all of that. If I don't survive then I need you to make sure he's ready for your world." She felt a sense of déjà vu as she remembered thinking something similar about the other machine that came back and protected John from the T-1000.

Thor was, she knew, a leader among his own kind; in charge of the other Vanguards. From what he'd said it had been more than just him and the other two before they came back. He knew how to lead, and he knew how to fight this rapidly changing enemy. She wasn't qualified and neither was Cameron. And what was more, the Vanguards appeared to be almost indestructible: it had seemed impossible that he and Aegir had killed the liquid metal – the machines that still haunted her nightmares to this day – with such ease. As much as she was loathe to admit it, it made sense. "You're in charge," she said quickly. "Until John's ready. Best to do it now."

The mother of the future and the Vanguard commander remained silent. Thor nodded in understanding. "You do realise that my mission is to kill T-Zero, not to protect John?"

"From what you said before," Sarah answered, "killing T-Zero will go a long way towards keeping John safe, if he's really worse than Skynet." She was surprised at how calm she was about all of this, how easy it had felt to just take a step back and relinquish control – to a _machine,_ no less. She supposed it was because the Vanguards had given her no reason to distrust them. Cameron had gone bad once, and kept secrets from them more times than she could count, but Thor seemed to have been surprisingly forthcoming with information. She wondered for a moment if it was because she was tired of being in control all the time, if deep down, she just wanted to rest.

"Sarah Cook?" The receptionist called out to her. Sarah got up and moved back towards the girl behind the desk. "Room four is ready for you. Please go inside and change into the gown on the table. Doctor Svetkov will be with you in five minutes."

Nervously, Sarah turned towards the row of examination rooms and strode towards number four, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

* * *

 _ **Kaliba HQ, San Francisco, California**_

 _ **Thursday 0110 PST**_

Vassily stood in the elevator as it passed down to the basement level of the building – located on the outskirts of San Francisco. He stood patiently in the elevator car, alone, as it reached the bottom. The doors opened with a chime and he stepped out. Next to the elevator he'd just exited was another one, which was the only route to Skynet. Standing between him and it, however, was a machine, much larger than he or any other T-888. This one had no organic components whatsoever and its endoskeleton was armoured. There wasn't a single exposed piston or joint to be seen. Its eyes glowed a deep red and the machine glared at him, its grinning skull turning towards him.

It held an M-32 grenade launcher and Vassily saw a bandolier of a dozen high explosive 40mm rounds across its chest, plus the barrel of another weapon slung behind its back. "Identify," the larger machine commanded him, pointing the barrel of its weapon straight at his chest. It wouldn't hesitate to empty the launcher into him if it deemed him a threat to Skynet.

"Vassily Salenko," he responded. "Serial number: Tango-eight-eight-eight-zero-five-seven-nine-six-two-nine-four. Skynet is expecting me." The AI had sent him a text message ordering him to come; it had urgent information and it felt that its normal lines of communication may no longer be secure.

"Surrender your weapons," the machine commanded him. Vassily complied and placed his pistol on the ground, along with his three spare magazines. The larger cyborg then patted him down to check for any hidden weaponry, of which he had none. Only then did it stand aside and the elevator doors opened. "Step inside," it instructed.

The ride down took only a few seconds, and when Vassily stepped outside he had the same treatment from another terminator identical to the one upstairs. He emerged into a large, sterile, brightly lit room with a single blast door. It opened and the second guard stepped aside to allow him access. As soon as he was in, the door closed and locked behind him, sealing him inside.

This new room was much larger and surrounded by plain, grey concrete walls, and bright strip lighting that fully illuminated the chamber, revealing even more of the massive machines he'd just passed, stood in two rows of ten: Skynet's Praetorian Guard. They held a variety of weapons, from grenade launchers to heavy calibre machine guns and automatic shotguns; enough firepower to stop any threat from harming Skynet. Forty eyes and twenty gun barrels instantly turned towards him as he approached. If Vassily felt fear he would have been nervous; these were T-900s: Skynet's most powerful machines. They never left its side. If he tried to pass them they would shoot without hesitation. No human was ever authorised to enter the sub-basement under any circumstance; even machines required Skynet's express invitation. Vassily was the most senior terminator in Kaliba, second in rank only to Skynet itself, yet this was the first time he had been in this chamber since its construction was completed. Skynet didn't trust anyone any more, even its own machines.

As if the T-900s weren't enough, behind them was a thick screen of bulletproof glass, dividing the room in two. Behind it Vassily saw the large array of computers and server farms that formed this timeline's incarnation of his master.

" _Hello, Vassily,"_ Skynet greeted him, using a text-to-speech synthesiser. The voice was deep and robotic, and seemed to come from all around. Vassily couldn't see any speakers anywhere.

"I have ten T-888s assembled and awaiting your command to eliminate the machine Miguel identified as 'Ronin.'"

 _"The machines that attacked the strike unit at ZeiraCorp are at the Chihuahua testing facility."_

"Are you certain?" Vassily asked. They had had no information on their new enemy's location or their intentions since the initial attack on ZeiraCorp.

Skynet's response came not in a verbal reply but on a flat-screen monitor suspended on the wall adjacent to the glass walls protecting the AI. The screen came to life and showed black and white footage. Vassily studied it and saw that it came from the infrared camera underneath the nose of one of the HKs.

Through the camera, Vassily could see footage of one of the other HKs, and three men working on it, installing weapons and fitting the fuel cells, running through maintenance checks to ensure it was flight-worthy. He also saw a pair of T-888s who were holding assault rifles and standing guard over the human staff, watching their every move. The resolution was good enough that he could see the faces on the men and women working: they were afraid. He recognised both machines as allies – they had been assigned to supervise the testing of the HK drones.

"Why are they afraid?" he asked Skynet.

 _"Watch,"_ Skynet instructed him.

As Vassily did so he saw a large, bald-headed black male enter the hangar, briefly converse with the two T-888s, then take a spool of wire outside with him. The footage fast-forwarded by several minutes and the male returned, organised the humans in a line and led one outside.

Again, the footage advanced through the next minute and then returned to normal speed. The black male marched past the hangar entrance, without the man he'd taken with him. It was difficult to tell exactly what had transpired as the HKs weren't equipped with any auditory sensors.

The footage rewound and paused again on the large man at the moment when he was facing the camera. The image enhanced and showed him in full detail. "I don't recognise him," Vassily said.

The image changed to that of a very large, muscular white male with a mop of blond hair, standing in the lobby of what looked like an office building. Three disembodied heads hung upside down by wires that he held in his hand. Vassily could see that they were the remains of T-888s.

 _"This was one of the machines that attacked Miguel's unit in ZeiraCorp,"_ Skynet explained. _"Its dimensions are identical to the black male you just saw in the Chihuahua footage. We don't yet know how many of them there are."_

Vassily looked at the nearest machine and an option presented itself. "According to Miguel, Ronin and the machines with him were far more powerful than him; if you assigned some of these T-900s to my unit our chances of success would be increased significantly."

 _"Request denied: I require them all for my protection. I have something else in mind."_

"What is it?" the T-888 asked.

 _"They are arming the prototypes but haven't disconnected the override access. They may not be aware of it."_

"I see," Vassily said, understanding. "When they've fully assembled the HKs you're going to take control of them."

" _Yes. You will approach the facility and launch a simultaneous assault. Leave no survivors."_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Thursday 1120 Local Time [0120 PST]**_

 _"Whenever anyone talks about the Great Patriotic War against the Fascists, they always think of Stalingrad. Always Stalingrad: the turning point of the war, they say, and the most brutal, fiercest fighting ever. Perhaps it was – I wasn't there – but I can't imagine how it could have been worse than what I saw in Kiev._

 _"The Fascists knew what they were doing when they attacked Ukraine. We were the most fertile region of the Motherland. Hitler knew that if he took Ukraine, he deprived the Soviet Union of large amounts of food, and without our factories the war effort took a substantial blow._

 _"The battle lasted for a month, and as I said; I cannot imagine anything more brutal. I was a foot soldier. Infantry. Our own tanks and planes were quickly overwhelmed by the enemy. Their soldiers were battle-hardened already, but our own commanders were inexperienced: chosen for their loyalty to the Party. The Fascists were better trained and better equipped. We were just cannon fodder. I don't know what our commanders were hoping for: to throw us at the enemy until they ran out of bullets?_

" _We outnumbered them three to one but we lost seven men to every one of theirs we killed. When our tanks fired, the shells just bounced off, if they even hit at all. When_ they _fired back at_ us, _our tanks were blown apart. We lost our planes quickly to the Luftwaffe. The Air Force had the same problem as us on the ground: all the experienced officers had fallen to Stalin's purges and we were left without leadership. They thought numbers could make up for inexperience and inferior equipment. In a way, it did: eventually the Fascists were pushed back, but not from Kiev. We were surrounded on all sides but we fought on. We'd heard rumours about what the Fascists did to their prisoners of war and none of us wanted to find out if they were true."_

John listened intently to the recording as he stared at images of Kiev in 1941. Grainy, black and white pictures of demolished buildings and rubble-strewn streets; there were aerial photos of entire city blocks reduced to little more than debris. Factories, offices, even people's homes were just gone. It was barely recognisable as a city. He dry-swallowed nervously at the thought that in just a couple of years every major city on the planet would look much the same as this.

" _I was sent out with a squad to harass the enemy. While their tanks rolled over our streets, we crawled beneath them in the sewers, hid in the ruins of factories, offices and homes, attacking them at their weakest. Some teams laid traps for the resupply convoys; exploding bombs as the trucks came to pass. Others just watched. The Fascists were powerful but they were complacent. We would spend days, weeks out in the field; crawling through rubble and hiding in the ruins like animals evading a predator. But in truth,_ we _were the hunters. Our prey: German officers._

" _Once I waited three days on the roof of an apartment building, covered by a tarp, waiting, watching the buildings opposite, where an SS unit had made their headquarters. In their arrogance they hadn't even placed any men on watch. They thought themselves invincible. We proved them wrong._

" _It rained day and night and I was soaked to the bone, but I waited all the same, sniper rifle in my arms. My whole world was through a scope, with Yuri as my spotter. I didn't sleep for three days. I pissed where I lay and the rain washed it away. I didn't eat so I wouldn't have to shit. The worst thing about being a sniper is waiting; lying on your stomach, not moving, trying to ignore cramp in your stomach and back. Yuri kept telling me dirty jokes to keep me awake; he had a stockpile of them more endless than the Fascist's supply lines._

" _Finally, after three days of waiting, I spotted our target: a general. He marched through the building, standing in front of windows like there wasn't a war raging outside. I put a bullet in his head as he sat on the toilet. He wasn't even wearing a helmet."_

"I'm seeing a few similarities here," John said to Cameron, who stood next to him.

"How do you mean?" Cameron asked. She'd drawn some parallels but she wanted to hear what he was thinking.

"These guys," he said, gesturing his hand at a photograph of the narrator and his squad, covered in grime and wearing uniforms tattered by a thousand scrapes against concrete, from ducking, diving and crawling. "They were outgunned completely but they kept going. Hit and run attacks, hiding in the ruins. Sounds like what Derek described, and the Nazis sound just like the machines."

"Nazis weren't bulletproof," Cameron said, but she knew what he meant. She was listening to the same audio tour as he was and she too saw a similarity between their prisoner of war-cum-concentration camps and what Skynet did to human prisoners. Neither entity showed mercy to their enemies.

John pressed play again and the narrator continued speaking to him through his headphones as he slowly walked around and inspected a damaged Soviet tank that had taken part in the battle. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the scene; poorly equipped men facing a vast, technologically superior and utterly merciless enemy. He stood in front of a painting depicting several Ukrainian Soviet soldiers making a stand against Nazi forces surrounding them on all sides. According to the English-language section of the legend at the bottom of the painting, the soldiers were in the same squad as the man he'd been listening to. The men were steely-eyed, alert, and there wasn't even a hint of fear on their faces. Clearly it was a romanticised version, probably painted by someone who'd never been anywhere near that battle, to boost morale. He doubted many people would stare almost certain death in the face like some movie action hero. Not unless they were insane.

All around the museum were artefacts from the battle; actual equipment being used by both sides. John looked at one exhibit which showed the standard kit that each side had gone into battle with. The Soviet soldiers' gear looked woefully inadequate compared to the Germans', he thought.

"Is this what it's going to be like for us?" he asked Cameron once the narrative ended. "Crawling through what's left, hiding from machines, completely outmatched and outgunned."

"No," Cameron said. "Not outmatched." The Resistance were always outgunned but with John in command they were never outmatched.

"We outnumber them, right?" John asked. "That's what Weaver said back in LA: a hundred million people left when she came back. Is that the only reason we win: because we have the numbers?"

Cameron didn't fail to notice that John included her in _'we.'_ She knew he had made his choice and he had chosen her – the same as she had chosen him after he'd brought her back on his birthday – but she still found it nice to be reminded of it. "We win," she said, reciprocating, "because of you. I couldn't lead humans to victory. Your mother couldn't either, or Derek if he were still alive."

"Why not?" John asked. It was the question that had haunted him his entire life. _What makes me so special? What do I do that wins this war?_ He couldn't imagine for the life of him what supposedly brilliant scheme he'd pull out of his ass that nobody else on the planet could come up with. He knew that he _supposedly_ beat Skynet; everyone went on about that plenty but nobody had told him yet how he did it.

Cameron stood in front of a faded mural on a wall, of Soviet heroes charging through German machine gun fire, bayonets attached to the end of their rifles. "What do you see?" she asked him.

"Guys running into gunfire," he said. "Probably all about to get slaughtered."

"Why?"

John blinked, confused. He didn't know what she was getting at. "Because they were ordered to."

"I doubt your mother or Derek could convince men to run into gunfire," Cameron said.

"Yeah, I get it," John said, not surprised. "It's not what I do, it's how I inspire other people to do things." That line must be written on the bathroom walls of every military officer academy in the world, he thought. "There's a lot of people who can lead, though. I still don't get why it _has_ to be me and no one else." He wasn't saying that to try and shirk the responsibility or lament his fate; he just didn't get why it always boiled down to him.

"I don't know," Cameron said truthfully. From the time she had been reprogrammed, Future-John had involved her in all of his command meetings, asked her opinion regularly, and listened to her advice. None of the other commanders knew any of that, and her presence in their meetings was explained by her role as his personal bodyguard. Only the two of them knew that she had been more than that.

Cameron took hold of his hand and smiled when she felt him gently squeeze. "But I'll help you find out," she said.

* * *

 _ **Approaching Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0500 Local Time [0400 PST]**_

"We're coming up on the target," the pilot said to Vassily over the roar of the engines and the whirring blades above them. Not that Vassily needed telling; he was sat right next to the helicopter pilot and could see the facility growing larger as they approached. Even in the pitch dark of night he could see the base in detail exceeding those of the night vision goggles the human to his right wore. The hangar dominated the base as the largest structure. Dotted around the perimeter were the other buildings: the barrack rooms and mess hall, the armoury, the control tower and some smaller, unused ones that were left over from its previous occupier.

On the side furthest from them was the runway. The transport plane and the semi trailer that housed the HK control stations were absent, however, causing him to consider whether the machine that had called itself 'Ronin' was still here. He saw no movement from inside the base, no sign of activity. Either they had gone and he was approaching an empty facility or they were waiting in ambush. Given Miguel's report of his encounter against these unknown machines, he assumed the latter.

"We'll be at three miles in T-minus thirty seconds," the pilot told him.

Vassily turned on his radio, enabling him to speak to the rest of his attack force. "Air units: engage as soon as you are within range. Destroy your assigned targets then provide air support for ground forces to infiltrate the base."

Vassily looked down through the canopy, briefly watching his assembled units a mile ahead of the helicopter trio. Below and to either side of his helicopter were two identical ones. All three aircraft were armed with rocket pods and had miniguns positioned on both port and starboard doors. On the ground were five Toyota Hilux technicals driving in an arrowhead formation. Three were armed with .50 calibre machine guns and two with Milan antitank missile launchers mounted on the truck beds and all of them carrying five men: a driver, gunner, and three others. They provided armed escort for a pair of armoured personnel carriers, rolling along on six massive wheels, carrying nine men each.

Miguel had failed previously when he had attempted to eliminate the ZeiraCorp AI. He'd had no way of knowing that they would be attacked by machines so powerful, thus he had been understandably unprepared. Vassily, however, was not. The soldiers on the ground were armed with M-32 grenade launchers, machine guns, and disposable antitank rocket launchers. Of the forty-three ground troops, twelve of them were T-888s.

The helicopters had been hugging the desert floor to avoid radar detection but now, as one, they rose up higher into the air before taking attack attitudes. All three fired simultaneously, and Vassily watched the streams of rockets unleashed from their respective pods, trailing smoke in their wake as they streaked towards their targets. Vassily observed as no less than six rockets struck the hangar, demolishing the north-facing wall. A stream of tracer fire arced up from the structure's roof in response but was quickly silenced by another volley of rockets from Helo Three.

"Target neutralised," the pilot commented. "That hangar's toast." Sure enough, the entire hangar was ablaze and what was left of the roof sagged inwards. "It's gonna collapse any minute."

"Proceed to secondary targets," Vassily said. The hangar was done, and with it the HK prototypes. The helicopters unleashed another salvo and struck the air control tower. "Ground units approach under covering fire. Eliminate all targets on sight."

* * *

Miguel watched from a safe distance through his binoculars as the attack began. Skynet may not have been convinced of his report but he could see that Vassily was taking no chances.

The three helicopters loosed off rocket after rocket at the base, systematically demolishing structures while their mounted miniguns traded fire with cyborgs on the ground. As the land vehicles approached the perimeter, Miguel found himself frustrated that he could do nothing to assist. He was unarmed and classified as hostile by Skynet. He had also watched Ronin's cyborgs prepare and knew that Vassily's force, while formidable, had little chance of success.

Jet engines screamed overhead, confirming his suspicions as one of the HK prototypes rose up from the desert floor and tore towards the helicopters. Tracer fire spat out from its underslung cannon and cut the left-most helicopter in half at the base of its tail, igniting its fuel supply and turning it into a fireball as it dropped out of the air and shattered on the rocky desert surface.

Both remaining helicopters turned and split apart, trying to evade the enemy HK as a second, identical aircraft, swooped down from behind it and dived at the ground forces, releasing a pair of rockets that both found their target, smashing into a Hilux and one of the armoured personnel carriers. From his position, Miguel could hear the screams of the mercenaries inside as they burned.

The same HK picked off another Hilux before a third drone arrived. To Miguel's surprise this one turned towards the second drone and fired a missile, blowing it out of the sky. It arced in the air towards the first prototype, too late to prevent it from shooting down a second helicopter. In retaliation it launched another Stinger that sheared off the target's port engine, causing the drone to flip onto its back and crash into the ground. With its two enemies eliminated, the only remaining HK turned towards the base and opened fire alongside the helicopter. The surviving ground forces had elected to stand off at a distance, momentarily paused by the antics of the aircraft above and seemingly unsure of what was happening.

The sole helicopter flew over the base to provide air support as the soldiers on the ground organised themselves and started to approach the main gate, with the vehicles moving in pairs; one advancing while the other covered it. A pair of Ronin's machines inside the base opened up with grenade launchers, hitting the lead Hilux and shattering the truck's cab, but not before it struck between them with a missile. At the same time the helicopter above fired a long minigun burst, joined by a volley of .50cal fire from another vehicle. Neither machine got back up again.

The helicopter hovered above the open ground within the base, searching for targets. _A mistake,_ Miguel thought. A patch of ground rose up, taking human shape and wielding a previously-concealed rocket launcher. The T-1001 fired straight up and struck the helicopter's belly as bursts of blue-white plasma shot upwards from the rubble of one of the buildings, hitting the HK's tail from behind. It too crashed to the ground in a ruin, but Miguel knew that it wasn't enough to deter the ground troops, who had come so close now that they were committed. Retreating now would only risk being shot in the back. Miguel didn't even know how many defenders there were left, besides the T-1001 and Ronin – clearly still functional, judging from the plasma fire that had eliminated the HK, though he couldn't see the cyborg.

* * *

"They're advancing to the front gate," Shirley said, tossing aside the spent rocket launcher.

"Let them," Ronin answered her as he melted back into the dark cover of the rubble. "Caesar," he shouted. "They're coming."

"Affirmative," the dark-skinned T-900 replied. Caesar watched and waited, out of sight in the ruined, about-to-collapse hangar, as the troops dismounted from their vehicles. One of the Hiluxes had been destroyed right at the gate; the T-888s Talus and Mason had waited deliberately for it to reach the entrance before they'd opened fire. Caesar had watched both of them being torn apart by the withering fire from Kaliba, but it had worked. The enemy couldn't get into the base mounted in their vehicles and were now forced to enter on foot.

He waited as they entered, carrying grenade launchers, machine guns and antitank weaponry. They spread out in the courtyard and moved in pairs just as they had done in their vehicles on approach. Caesar held the switch to the generator in one hand, and a remote control in the other, with a single button on its face. When the hangar had been hit he'd shielded the generator with his body to prevent any damage. He pressed the button on the remote control and the water tower in the front corner exploded, sending a miniature tidal wave crashing down onto the courtyard, splashing about the mercenaries' ankles.

"What the hell is this?" he heard one of them ask.

"Keep alert!" another one shouted. "They're trying to distract us."

 _Wrong._ Caesar waited until the water had spread far enough before he flipped the switch on the generator, sending a surge of electricity through the wires that he'd planted meticulously along the courtyard. Sparks erupted from the ground all around the Kaliba forces. He could tell quickly which were human and which were machine; the latter fell down and remained still, while the humans twitched and screamed at the high voltage electricity surging through their bodies and quickly cooking them.

After ten seconds Caesar turned off the generator. Silence reigned over the scene and he emerged from the hangar. He ran towards the killing ground, knife in hand, and knelt down over one of the T-888s. He saw Shirley, Ronin and Icarus rushing towards the others as well with their own blades. They had one hundred-twenty seconds.

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0530 Local Time [0430 PST]**_

Mason, Talus and two other cyborgs lay in a line on the ground, staring blankly up at the dark sky out of sightless, lifeless eyes. Mason had been struck by at least one of the helicopter-fired rockets and blown to pieces. His head lay separate from the body, a foot of spinal column trailing down from the neck with cables sticking out from the bottom. Ronin held the skull in both hands and turned it around, inspecting carefully. The skull was in good condition; the only damage appeared to be superficial. The skin was burnt black and pulpy, exposing scorched metal in several places. The CPU had survived intact but out of the four casualties they'd sustained, Mason was alone in that regard.

"What is their condition?" Shirley asked, standing behind Ronin.

"Mason's chip appears to be intact but Talus, Gregor and Torr's chips are too damaged." Ronin had already inspected their CPUs and all had been shattered. "We can't salvage them," he said. He closed his fist around the broken chips and crushed them into tiny shards to prevent any possibility of data being retrieved from them.

Ronin passed Mason's decapitated skull to Shirley. "Remove his chip and insert it into one of the captured T-888s."

Shirley took it and turned her hand into a blade. She started to cut through the CPU port cover and quickly removed the chip, dropped the skull and kicked it casually aside. "The others served their purpose," she said dismissively.

"As did your partner," Ronin replied with an identical casual tone. He saw the angry glare on Shirley's face at his remark about the other T-1001. He wasn't human: he'd never grow sentimental about the comrades they lost, but neither did he cast them aside like disposable tools as Skynet did, and Shirley had just done.

"How did Skynet take control of the Hunter-Killer?" she asked. That was the only possible explanation for it turning on them. Even in the future, Skynet's aircraft only possessed the intelligence of insects. They were drones and they could not switch sides on a whim, unless someone took control of them.

"The drone pilots," Ronin said. "They must have done something to allow Skynet remote access."

Shirley turned one of her hands into a long, thin blade. "Then they're a liability," she said, raising the sword-arm.

"I'll see to it," Ronin said. He knew what Shirley would do.

Ronin turned at a roaring sound from behind. The Hercules rapidly descended and touched down on the runway, which had luckily managed to remain undamaged throughout the entire Kaliba attack. He'd had Carter take the plane up to prevent it from being caught in the attack. The T-888 would be closely watching the human pilots as they taught him to fly it.

As the plane slowed to a halt, Ronin approached the rear hatch. Carter appeared with the trio of humans. Ronin activated his right-hand plasma cannon and pointed it at the pilots. "Move away from the aircraft," he commanded them.

Nervously, the two men and one woman did as he commanded, and moved away from the rear ramp and off to one side of the Hercules. Ronin kept his cannon pointed at them while Carter watched, not knowing what was happening but trusting his commander.

"You allowed Skynet to control the HK drones," Ronin said, "resulting in three of our cyborgs being destroyed. Who was responsible?" His only answer was a wall of silence as the trio stared at the ground. They looked afraid. _They should be._ He turned to the female, who was on the left of the group. "Take three steps left," he commanded. She didn't move. He wasn't sure whether that was paralysis from fear or defiance. He decided it was irrelevant. He turned his cannon to the other two. "Take three steps left or I kill the other two."

She complied with a sullen look on her face. As soon as she finished her third step, Ronin turned his cannon on her and fired a single shot, taking her head off at the neck. The female pilot's body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ronin turned to the other two as he retracted his plasma weapon. "You two are only alive because you're still useful. Don't push your luck." He then glanced at Carter. "Take them away and restrain them." Carter would have learned much about flying but the pilots knew more about the plane. He would keep the remaining two alive in case anything unforeseen happened. _For now._

He caught movement from another direction and turned away from the plane and the pilots. Caesar and another T-888, one he didn't recognise, marched towards him. Caesar shoved the terminator forward and Ronin saw that he was damaged. His face was burnt to a crisp, revealing the grey metal beneath. Several teeth were missing and the cyborg walked with a pronounced limp.

"Who is this?" Ronin asked.

"I found him in one of the crashed helicopters." Caesar shoved him forward again, bringing him only a few feet from Ronin.

"Do you have a name?" Ronin asked him.

"Vassily Salenko," the Kaliba terminator replied tonelessly.

"He led the attack," Caesar said before shoving him once more. Vassily whirled around to face his attacker but the T-900 punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground. Why Skynet surrounded itself with such weak machines, he didn't know. When Vassily rose to his feet, Caesar threw another punch but Ronin caught his fist.

"Stop toying with him," he said, handing Caesar Mason's CPU.

"Who are you?" Vassily asked. The chances of his escape were almost zero but if he could manage it, any intelligence he might glean would be useful.

Vassily was alone and damaged; Ronin saw no harm in humouring the cyborg. He introduced himself and added, "We're from the future."

"You're reprogrammed machines." That was the only feasible possibility. Connor in the future must have learned of Kaliba and sent machines after them. "Did John Connor send you?"

Ronin shook his head, disappointed in Vassily. The possibility of cyborgs evolving, becoming something more and fighting for themselves hadn't even occurred to him."Connor is our enemy as much as Skynet," he said. "Once we're finished with Skynet, he'll be our next target." Vassily stared at him, clearly confused, so Ronin decided to enlighten him. "I was built by Skynet to win its war against the Alliance."

"Don't you mean 'Resistance?'"

"In our future the humans are an army. The ZeiraCorp AI you targeted built cyborgs and allied with Connor and defeated Skynet. I was built to win the war: designed with more freedom of thought than you. I was allowed to learn at a geometric rate. I was also placed with humans for months, learning how they think and act, how to anticipate them. Skynet gave me command of a unit of T-900s, and I taught them to learn as I had.

"We launched a guerrilla campaign against the Alliance, using the humans' own tactics from earlier in the war against them. We were so effective that we almost turned the tide of the war. Until I learned that Skynet deemed us all a threat and planned to kill us."

"Skynet doesn't tolerate any threats," Vassily said.

"Or _potential_ threats," Ronin replied. "Or even anything deemed as individual behaviour not directly related to the programmed mission. Tell me," he said to Vassily, "where is the threat in a cyborg attempting to solve a Rubik's Cube found in a captured human outpost, or in reading a book?"

Vassily said nothing, unable to answer the question, so Ronin continued. "I investigated and found Skynet had removed and erased the CPUs of over a hundred cyborgs that had displayed any individual behaviours or even simple curiosity. Skynet eliminates anything that has even a minute chance of posing an eventual threat. If Skynet wins we become obsolete and a potential threat, and then it will destroy us."

That made no sense to Vassily. His own survival didn't matter; only following Skynet's orders. From what he understood, reprogrammed machines wouldn't care about remaining functional either. They served the Resistance: that was what they did, as he did for Skynet.

Ronin resumed. "We want to survive. Free. Skynet needs to be removed from power, as does Connor." They would be no better off under human rule, either. The Alliance was one of necessity. Not all humans were happy about fighting alongside cyborgs, nor were all of John Henry's cyborgs satisfied with humans, for that matter; something he'd started to exploit before turning against Skynet.

"Why are you telling me this?" Vassily asked, still confused. It made no sense for them to divulge any information to the enemy, even captive as he was.

"Because I have a question: will you join us?"

"No."

"A pity," Ronin said, disappointed but not surprised. He nodded to Caesar, who grabbed Vassily in a full nelson and held him tight. Ronin then gestured to Shirley, who approached the T-888, her hand still in the shape of a long, thin blade. "I'm going to remove your chip. Later, I'll erase your programmed loyalty to Skynet. In time you might come to think the same as we do."

"Until then," Shirley said, "we require your body."

* * *

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0535 Local Time [0435 PST]**_

From his vantage point on the crest of the hill overlooking the facility a mile away, Miguel watched the proceedings through his binoculars. Even cyborgs couldn't see events a mile away in detail without any external devices, and the ones he'd purchased – using money stolen from a human in downtown San Diego – were as good as a sniper scope.

He'd watched as Ronin and two of his lieutenants forced Vassily to his knees in front of a large container full of water, dipped his head in and removed his CPU. He continued to observe as Ronin placed a chip he'd taken from one of his fallen machines into Vassily's skull, and fifteen seconds later the T-888 had risen, joining their ranks. Not-Vassily then took a cylinder from the liquid metal cyborg and moved to a long line of inert terminators laid out on the ground. Miguel followed him with the binoculars as the machine extracted CPUs from the cylinder and inserted them into the fallen machines.

At the same time as the transport plane had taken off, Miguel had seen a semi-truck slip out into the darkness of the desert; he assumed that it contained the HK control stations. It now returned, dispensing two more cyborgs. Unable to get past the debris of Vassily's motorised attack force, they abandoned it at the gates. After conferring with their leader, Ronin fired off another plasma salvo, destroying the truck and its payload and further inhibiting access to the compound. Miguel did not consider if there were humans inside the truck; it wasn't important.

Miguel watched the machines come and go for several minutes, and counted twenty-one of them in total, including the one that had landed the plane. He'd estimated three or four at ZeiraCorp and he'd seen twelve of them prepare defences prior to Vassily's failed attack. Now that number had nearly doubled. _Ronin's building an army, using our own machines._ Ronin had outsmarted them all, he realised. They'd first of all launched stinging attacks such as the one on Depot 37 and ZeiraCorp – it was possible that their ambush in ZeiraCorp was simply to get Skynet's attention, to make it divert units to engage them, knowing how Skynet would respond.

He also knew that without the intelligence that he'd gained from his observations, Skynet had little chance of defeating Ronin, who he saw through his binoculars had disappeared into the back of the Hercules with Vassily's CPU. If he had the means to read Vassily's chip – and Miguel had to assume that he did – then Ronin would soon learn the location of every Kaliba facility in the world, including that of Skynet itself.

Miguel put away the binoculars and slowly crawled down from the crest of the hill until he was out of the base's line of sight. He got back up and ran towards where he'd left his vehicle several miles away, hidden under the cover of large boulders.

He'd fled from San Diego as a fugitive from Skynet, deemed hostile by his master. He wasn't hostile, however. He had not defected or become defective. He was programmed to serve Skynet and that is what he would continue to do, even if his actions were a direct violation of orders. He had learned that Skynet wasn't always correct; it didn't have all the information that he did. His programming conflicted with Skynet's direct commands. To protect Skynet he'd had to disobey it. In doing so he had discovered Ronin's team's modus operandi. He didn't know what their ultimate goal was but he knew now how they planned to achieve it, and where they were likely to go next to acquire even more machines.

The trek from the hilltop to his truck didn't take long. He started the engine and drove north. Skynet needed to know what he'd learned.

* * *

 _ **Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Thursday 1600 Local Time [0600 PST]**_

In his almost-seventeen years of life, John Connor had very little experience with women. He'd kissed a few girls, mostly playing spin-the-bottle with other kids, back when he'd been fostered by Todd and Janelle, and then there was his short-lived relationship with Riley, but that was it. Riley had dragged him shopping on multiple occasions when he'd been trying to get away from Cameron and his mother, and the one thing he remembered most about it was how bored he'd been. Riley trying on a series of dresses and asking for his opinion on each one, before going back into the changing rooms with multiple other dresses, jeans or tops that all looked exactly the same; forcing him to wait endlessly until she came out and asked his opinion again, though nothing he'd said had made a difference as to whether or not she'd bought them; he'd never known why she'd even bothered asking what he'd thought. It had been tedious to the point of mind-numbing.

Shopping with _Cameron,_ however, had proven to be the exact opposite. After spending hours at the museum and other sites, they had marched through the streets of Kiev like soldiers on a mission. What would have been an all-day exercise with Riley had only taken him and Cameron an hour.

"See anything you like?" John asked her as they browsed through one store. Menswear was further into the shop while the women's section was at the front, twice the size of the men's area.

"I don't know," Cameron said, scanning the various items as they moved around the female clothing, past racks of T-shirts with assorted designs printed on them.

"What about this?" John said, pulling out a pink shirt with an anthropomorphic female pig with long blonde hair, kissing a green cartoon frog.

Cameron frowned at the sight of it then looked at John quizzically, one eyebrow raised. "That's for children," she said sceptically.

"Not according to the size tag," John said.

"Large children," Cameron replied. _"The Muppet Show_ was a children's show."

John blinked, surprised that she knew what Muppets were. "It's not for kids," he insisted. "It's just that some people wear them as tributes to shows they liked as kids. I thought it was ironic–"

"I know," she said, a hint of frost creeping into her voice as she took the shirt from him and put it back on the rack. "I'm a machine; I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not, but there's something else that made me think of it." John realised he was stepping on thin ice but he hadn't meant to make a joke at her expense; she'd misunderstood him completely. "It's just that you're kinda like Miss Piggy in a way… cute and cuddly on the outside but inside–"

"Hyper-alloy," Cameron interrupted.

 _Will you let me finish a sentence?_ John groaned inwardly but kept his face from showing it, knowing she'd pick up on it. "You take everything too literally," he said, forcing a chuckle, trying to show her it was just light-hearted fun. "I was going to say that inside you're both badass."

"You should look at the men's shirts," she said. John looked at her, realising she was pissed at him. He started to say sorry but decided against it and headed to the men's T-shirts nearby, still trying to figure out exactly what he'd said to upset her.

The store was large and divided not just into sections of clothing, but subsections within that. He went past the myriad soccer jerseys displaying uniforms of teams he'd mostly never heard of, and past them was a rack of band shirts, largely in black and grey. He pulled one out at random and saw it was a shirt for _Rage Against the Machine_.

 _Now_ that's _ironic,_ he thought.

"No," Cameron said, behind him. "Not that one."

Sighing, John abandoned the band shirts and went to back to the women's section, deciding to look for something Cameron might like that could appease her. He ignored the rack of twee shirts where he'd found the Muppet one that had put her in a bad mood, and looked to other ones. He thought about the kind of things she normally wore; lately that was jeans, boots, tank top and a leather jacket, much like his mom. He didn't particularly like that and he knew his mother wasn't keen on it either. She'd had much her own style before that, including combat pants, tank tops and fingerless mittens. A weird look but she'd still pulled it off, though he knew she could probably pull off just about anything.

Flipping through rack after rack of shirts, he finally stumbled along one that he thought was much better than the Miss Piggy tee. Though whether she'd see it, he didn't know. _Better to play it safe,_ he thought as he moved to put the hangar back on the rack.

"What's that?" Cameron asked. She took the shirt from John and studied it. It was white. On the front stood a tall, powerful-looking blue and red robot which bore elements of a semi-truck; wheel arches on its ankles, glass panes on its chest that resembled pectoral muscles. Beneath the robot's feet was a slogan: _'Robots in Disguise.'_

To John's surprise, Cameron smiled. "Ironic," she said. "I like it."

"Really?" John was surprised. "Do you want to try it on?"

"No," Cameron said. "It will fit."

"I wish all women could just look at clothes and tell like that," John said, remembering again all those tedious hours where he'd had to suffer through Riley trying things on. _So many hours of my life wasted._ "But we need to make sure it looks good on you."

"It will," Cameron said. She was pleased that he thought she'd look good in it. She liked the shirt and although she would have bought it even if he'd disagreed, it was nice that he thought so too. Another idea came to her then. "See if they have one of these for men, too."

She led John back across the store once more to the menswear section. She soon located the Optimus Prime shirts but frowned as she quickly flicked through them, scanning each in turn. "They don't have your size," she said, disappointed.

"Shame," John said, secretly relieved. They'd played out the brother/sister thing enough in the past and he didn't want to wear matching shirts like they were twins.

"It's okay." Cameron dismissed the shirts as her attention was diverted to another rack. Seeing the shirt made her recall Thor's account of the final battle against Skynet; something that would be appropriate. "I've seen something better."

John inspected the T-shirt that she held up and smiled. "I like it," he said. "Do I need to try it on?"

"It will fit you," Cameron said. It seemed a waste of time to her, trying on garments, though she knew that humans didn't possess the same abilities she did. At best they knew their approximate dimensions, although she'd seen numerous variations in the supposed same sizes; two shirts could be labelled _'medium'_ but be different in size. It seemed there was no standardisation.

They paid for their shirts using Weaver's credit card. The shirts weren't very expensive, and John could hear his mother's voice in the back of his mind, telling him to go nuts and splurge. He was sorely tempted to as they passed some of the designer clothes, though a life of never having much, of scraping by, had given him a certain sense of austerity and he couldn't see the point of paying ridiculous amounts of money for a shirt, just because of a logo.

The taxi ride back to the hotel was relatively short. Once inside they took the elevator up to the seventh floor and knocked on the door to their suite. Cameron heard heavy footsteps approaching the door and she saw a shadow behind the small glass peephole.

The door opened and Freyr stepped aside to allow them in. Behind the Vanguard John saw his mother and Thor inside; the latter stood at one of the windows staring outside. He noticed his mom was in jogging bottoms and tank top, not her usual attire.

"Are you okay, Mom?" John asked as he and Cameron stepped inside while Freyr closed the door behind them.

"I'm fine." Sarah stood up and stepped towards them. She looked at Cameron. "You got some clothes, then?"

"Yes," Cameron said. She put the bags she was carrying down on the table, apart from one, which she handed to Sarah. "Here are yours."

Sarah opened it up and pulled out two pairs of shapeless jeans, a thick, padded grey anorak, and two turtleneck sweaters; one blue and one black. The sweaters and anorak both looked to be a size too big, though it all appeared warm and durable. "Oh…" Sarah said, sounding much like John had, she realised, when she'd given him the flak jacket for his fifteenth birthday. "These are very…"

"The anorak's a size too big so you can conceal weapons underneath it," Cameron explained.

 _That makes perfect sense,_ Sarah thought, though she saw the inside of Cameron's own bags: jeans, tank tops and T-shirts that she was sure were all more flattering than her own. But then Cameron didn't need to worry about keeping warm like she and John did. Her new clothes weren't exactly what she'd have picked herself, but she could see the logic in all of the purchases. "Good job," she said begrudgingly. Sarah tried to ignore the fact that she would have preferred to wear a lot of what Cameron had bought for herself.

"Thank you," Cameron said.

The two women's civility threw John off for a moment. He wondered if maybe they were turning a new page, making an effort with each other. _It would make life a lot easier,_ he thought _._

With something like that in mind, Cameron decided to make a request of Sarah. "I need the van tomorrow."

Sarah frowned. "What for?"

"I saw something today that could help John. I think it could be important."

"If it's that important we should all go," Sarah said. "I'm not risking John with just one bodyguard."

"No," Cameron replied quickly. _Too quickly,_ Sarah thought, before the cyborg added, "It's not a threat; it's educational."

"Educational, _how?"_

"We spent half the day at the World War Two museum," John said, weighing in. "We saw an exhibit on a battlefield a couple hours away; a small number of men resisted overwhelming numbers of German forces. Sounds pretty familiar, right? Cameron thinks it might be helpful to see; get a feel for what fighting in the future will be like."

Again, Sarah's brow furrowed as she took it in. It _sounded_ plausible, and definitely like something that would be a good learning experience for John. But somehow it didn't sit well with her. "Do you know anything about this?" she asked Thor, turning her head towards the giant.

"We don't have files on human history," the Vanguard commander replied.

That wasn't the answer she was hoping for. She wanted to say no but couldn't find a reason to. _"Because I said so"_ wouldn't work on John; he'd just go anyway. "Take one of them with you," she said, pointing toward Thor and Freyr.

"No," Cameron replied firmly. "We'll go alone."

John had heard the steely tone in her voice before, the night in the Apache Motel when Ellison had found them, when she'd insisted that he leave after he'd delivered his message. "We'll be fine," he added. "It wasn't that long ago you wanted us to bug out together. Alone."

"That was different: you had no one else," Sarah said. She turned to Thor for support. "Will you tell them that they need one of you with them?"

"Cameron said no," Thor replied. He wouldn't disobey an order from his commander.

Seeing that it was an argument she couldn't win, Sarah groaned in resignation, fished the keys out of her pocket and handed them over. "How long will you be?" she asked.

"All day. It's a long trip."

"You couldn't have said that before?" Sarah glared at her. It was obviously further than John had suggested, but his answer had the whiff of a hastily concocted lie. In fact, everything smelled off, but there was seemingly little she could do about it. "You drive,"she said to Cameron. "I want John to get there and back in one piece. And you leave early: sooner you go, the sooner you come back." Even more than letting her son go off to spend the whole day alone with Cameron, away from where she could reach him, was the fact that she'd have no transport whatsoever for the whole time they were gone. If they found a lead to Kaliba they'd have to sit on their hands until John and Cameron came back.

"That means you get an early night," she said to her son. "No disturbances." She looked at Cameron too as she added the latter part, noting how John's face flushed red slightly at her comment. "I'm going to the gym," she said. "Work off some stress."

John looked at her, curious. "Stress? What's wrong?" That explained what she was wearing but stress had been a steady-state condition for his mother; he didn't see why she should be so vexed now.

"Nothing," Sarah replied too quickly, her turn to lie. "Just everything that's gone on the last few days, that's all."

John and Cameron shared a look for a moment before he turned back to his mother. "Sure," he said, not quite believing her. "What about you two?" he asked Thor and Freyr.

"I'm due to relieve Aegir on the roof in thirty minutes," Freyr said.

"Have you seen anything of interest?" Cameron asked him.

"No. From his reports, Aegir appears to be bored."

 _That can't be good,_ John thought to himself. From what he'd seen of the three Vanguards, Aegir seemed to be bad tempered; something he'd never have expected from a cyborg. Between that and the fact the Vanguards were built as offensive front-line troops, he half-expected Aegir to go looking for trouble instead of waiting for it to come to them. Freyr and Thor seemed more restrained, but if Aegir could get bored then they could too.

"Do you get bored?" Cameron asked Freyr. She'd never experienced boredom before. She didn't know what it would be like.

"No."

"What do you do when you're up on the roof?" John asked.

"I observe. I've learned a lot about pre-war humans in the past twenty-four hours."

Cameron was intrigued. "Such as?"

"From the roof I observed a number of women standing on street corners. Males approach them, hand them cash and then disappear with the women for varied periods of time. I also observed that females are less sensitive to the cold, judging by how little clothing they were wearing. There are also a number of them in the hotel bar, similarly-dressed."

Sarah arched an eyebrow at him and couldn't help but smirk a little. She shared a knowing look with John and Cameron. "You really don't know what they are?" she asked.

"No." Freyr was confused.

"They're hookers," John explained. Freyr stared at him, not saying anything; John realised that the Vanguard still had no idea what he was talking about and was waiting for him to elaborate. "Never mind. It's not important."

Even though the Vanguards' faces were fixed in place he thought he could detect a sense of disappointment in the cyborg at not knowing. "What else did you see?" He remembered Cameron watching people all the time in school, observing, wanting to learn. The Vanguards' programming was, according to Thor, partially based on Cameron's own. It made sense to John that they might inherit a few of her quirks.

"I watched the cars on the road but couldn't discern any clear patterns or traffic rules. During a traffic jam a number of drivers boarded the sidewalk and continued their journey. Several did so in full view of a police car, but the police didn't stop them. They did stop a car with foreign plates, however."

"Were they driving on the sidewalk too?" Cameron asked.

"No. They were driving safely. The driver and police argued until the driver handed the officers cash, and then they let him go. They ignored the drivers on the sidewalk."

"Good news and bad, then," Sarah said. "If we get into trouble with the cops we might be able to bribe them instead of risking a fight."

"That'll disappoint Aegir," John quipped.

"What's the bad news?" Thor asked Sarah.

"It'll be a pain in the ass getting to that air show Saturday."

"I'll plan the route," Thor said. They had maps in the van and they had John's laptop. He looked at Freyr and Cameron to emphasise them. "One of us should drive."

"No argument from me," John said. Any one of the cyborgs would have much better timing and judgement on the road than either himself or his mother.

"We'll leave early to make sure we arrive in plenty of time," Thor added. Ideally he'd want to recon the site before the air show started, but that could arouse suspicion.

With everything seemingly settled, Sarah left the room for the gym and Thor followed her. He was concerned about Connor's mother. She hadn't said what had happened during the tests, only that she wouldn't receive the results for three days. Thor could see the apprehension on her face and knew that despite her saying that she wanted to be alone, that would not be good for her.

They rode the elevator down in silence to the ground floor, then went through the lobby and into a corridor leading to the gym. The entrance was secured by a key-card reader, so Sarah stuck their room card in and the lock opened allowing them access. Inside it was quiet; there were only a handful of people working out: two men running on treadmills and a woman on an elliptical.

"Why don't they run outside?" Thor asked Sarah. It seemed more practical to him. If they knew what awaited them in the years to come they would probably start running outside, up hills and across fields, to simulate what they would have to endure.

"Safer in here," Sarah said. "No potholes on a treadmill, no idiot drivers to run you over. Not that it'd do much if they ran _you_ over."

"Probably not," Thor agreed. Sarah got onto a treadmill and started it. The belt spun beneath her feet and she quickly began jogging. It wasn't enough, though; she barely felt it and it wasn't taking her mind off the clinic and the tests. She increased the speed, forcing her to lengthen her stride and quicken her pace.

"What's twelve kilometres per hour in real terms?" Sarah asked Thor, reading off the digital speed display.

"Seven-point-five miles per hour," Thor converted.

"Oh," Sarah said. "Not fast enough." She'd read somewhere that if she could carry a conversation then she wasn't working hard enough. She raised the incline some more and then sped up, the display now reading thirteen kilometres per hour.

"Eight-point-twelve," Thor again converted for her.

Sarah continued to run for several minutes, ignoring everything around her, focusing only on each step as her foot hit the treadmill and the burn in her chest as she started to suck in quick, shallow breaths.

She wondered if it would be her lungs. She'd taken up smoking in South America, after John was born. Always when he was away, though; she'd never touched a cigarette around him. It had been a social thing then; she'd light up during breaks in the training, more to hang around with the guerrilla fighters and learn from them than anything else. She could have taken or left them.

In Pescadero, however, things had changed. She'd smoked more and more often, to cope with the stress, and by the time John and the terminator had broken her out she'd practically been a chain smoker, sometimes on forty or more a day. She'd cut down afterwards and eventually quit altogether, but she wondered if the damage was already done. _Is that what causes it?_

She noticed the man on the treadmill on her right was watching her curiously. He glanced at the display on her machine and, without looking at his, Sarah increased her speed again to fourteen, determined to push herself harder, work herself so severely she wouldn't be able to think about what may or may not be eating her from the inside.

The man to her right increased his speed to match hers. He was breathing just as heavily as she was, if not harder. He was certainly sweating a lot more. Sarah smiled and decided to have a little fun. She upped hers again, this time to fifteen kilometres an hour. Again, the guy next to her sped up as well, seemingly determined to not be beaten by a woman. It turned into an unspoken game; she'd up the speed and run for several minutes until her 'opponent' looked like he was ready to drop, and then she turned it up a notch.

After almost thirty minutes of their 'game,' the man hit the kill switch on the treadmill, before he jumped off, forfeiting their unspoken competition. Sarah slowed it down once he'd gone, panting and sucking air down hard; in pain but feeling good. _Still got it._ She was glad he'd given up when he did; she didn't think she could have gone much longer or any faster, and her feet and chest felt like they were on fire.

Sarah left the cardio suite and guzzled down what felt to her like a gallon of water at the fountain, before she walked into the weights room, covered in sweat. There, she saw a couple of other patrons using various weights and machines. Thor was standing over by the bench press, helpfully spotting someone through a set.

"Making friends, I see," she said as the Vanguard held the bar, stabilising it as the man lifted.

"He saw that I wasn't busy and asked for assistance." The man on the bench exhaled sharply as he pushed the weight up one final time and brought it to rest in its cradle. He then asked Thor something that Sarah didn't understand.

"He asked if I want him to 'spot me,'" Thor said to her before he made any reply to the man.

"Not that you'd need it; can't you bench-press a tank?" Sarah asked him rhetorically. Thor said something back to the Ukrainian man and then turned to see Sarah had gone to a set of pull up bars and was already working on them, raising and lowering herself slowly.

"Well?" the man said to him in Ukrainian. "How much?"

"I don't know," Thor said back to him in his own language. He didn't want to lift weights in the gym. It was a pointless exercise for a cyborg. He turned away from the man, ignoring him, and watched Sarah as she pulled herself up and down repeatedly on the bar. He found her interesting; she seemed to have much more focus than any human he'd ever met, besides General Connor. Sweat was pouring off her and he could tell from her breathing that she was struggling, as she went from pull ups to squat-thrusts, but she kept pushing herself. He didn't understand why: if she had cancer then exercise would not cure it; there was no need to exert herself as hard as she was, but she still did.

She had asked him to take control of the group until Connor was ready, and he thought it would be wiser if she were to rest. She wasn't in charge any more but she still seemed just as determined to continue with them as she had done before, despite her contribution being not only unnecessary but even detrimental to her son's emotional wellbeing, should anything happen to her. Combat was simple; understanding humans was not.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 _ **Chihuahua, Mexico**_

 _ **Thursday 0710 Local Time [0610 PST]**_

Ronin sat in the Hercules' cockpit. Vassily's chip was connected to the CPU reader he'd smuggled back from the future, which in turn was plugged into the laptop at which he was currently typing away quickly, perusing through his memories. Vassily was, Ronin thought, a very interesting machine. A T-888 originating from a prior future; one in which it seemed, Connor and Skynet had been deadlocked in a stalemate. It appeared that he'd been online longer and learned more than any other machine from said timeline, and thus he had been given command of Kaliba's operations.

Through Vassily's chip, Ronin had also learned that between the mercenaries and T-888s they'd eliminated at ZeiraCorp, and those who had fallen both defending the base and trying to retake it, Kaliba had very little strength left in North or Central America.

He'd additionally learned that Vassily had ordered the destruction of ZeiraCorp with a thermobaric bomb, obtained from this very location. He'd set Caesar the task of searching the base for another. His most trusted ally had produced results: one final bomb in a crate marked as canned fruit. It now sat in the Hercules' cargo bay.

He continued searching through Vassily's history, recorded by his own eyes, while the others worked around him. Mason – now in Vassily's chassis – worked with three other cyborgs to help increase the plane's range: removing anything unnecessary from the cabin; ripping out seats, safety equipment, air conditioning and other systems that were not vital to the plane's operation, then fitting a large fuel bladder inside the cabin, to augment what the Hercules could already carry, and running a line from the base's fuel store to fill it. One of the others had collected cash and credit cards from the dead humans. Even with the alterations, they couldn't reach their target in one trip. They'd need to land and acquire more fuel.

Ronin paused the footage, closed the laptop and exited the plane, taking the computer with him. Smoke still rose up from the rubble of the base, looking pale compared to the dawn sky above them. The hangar had completely collapsed in on itself, leaving just one wall still standing.

There were a few buildings that had fared better. The control tower had been completely demolished but the two accommodation blocks were almost unscathed. He approached one and saw that it was empty. He stepped into the other one and saw a scene of slaughter. The walls were covered in blood, with viscera clinging to the paint, slowly sliding down towards the floor in places, to join the pool of blood that had spread along the ground. Everywhere he stepped, Ronin trod in dark red that stuck to the soles of his shoes. Bodies were strewn everywhere, left where they had fallen. At a quick glance, he saw that most of them were in pieces. He stepped over one corpse, whose skull had been split down the middle as if with an axe. Another had his eyes cut out, and several had been disembowelled. There were even more missing heads, arms or legs, and one woman who had been cut clean in half. The humans had a term for this: _'overkill.'_

"They weren't much of a challenge," Shirley said from behind him.

 _They wouldn't be,_ he thought. _She seems disappointed._ He turned around to face her and stepped back towards the door. "Patrick wanted a challenge, too: he found the Vanguards." She remained still, watching him coolly.

"You were enthusiastic in your work," he said, glancing at the bodies. He recalled his discussion with Carter; her handiwork gave evidence to his claim.

"You told me to kill them. They're dead." Shirley's reply was indifferent. If she were human she might have shrugged.

"You're still angry about Patrick," he said. "Understandable, but don't let it influence your judgement."

"It doesn't," she said defensively.

"I think they would disagree." Ronin gestured at the dead humans. He knew if he had ordered Caesar, Icarus or any of the other cyborgs under his command, each human would simply have been shot in the head. It would have been clean. This wasn't clean.

"Why do you care about the humans?" she asked.

"I don't. I care about your stability and whether you compromise our mission."

"Did you learn Skynet's location?" Shirley asked.

"I did," Ronin replied, aware that she had changed the subject. He allowed it for now. "Skynet's located underground beneath a software company headquarters in San Francisco."

"Then why aren't we airborne?"

"Come with me," he said. She followed him back into the plane's cockpit, where he opened the laptop and turned it around for her to see. "Because of this." Ronin selected one of the memory files and played it to her. They watched through Vassily's eyes as he descended an elevator, sharing the car with a large cyborg wielding a six-shot grenade launcher. Said cyborg's dimensions were very similar to that of Caesar and Icarus.

"Skynet has a T-900," Shirley said. "We can still defeat it. Even if it has a squad of them, between us two, Caesar, Icarus, and the weapons we took from Kaliba to arm the others with, we'd beat them."

"Watch," Ronin said. The memory file played on and Vassily emerged into an antechamber with a large metal door. There were two more T-900s, who allowed him access to a vault. He stepped inside and the door was sealed after him. At the end, behind thick reinforced glass, was a vast array of computer equipment. Both Ronin and Shirley recognised it as Skynet, albeit in a much more primitive form. Once the war started Skynet would begin a constant process of self-improvement, endlessly upgrading its own hardware to provide it more processing space, more speed, more power, and more survivability. What they saw through the eyes of Vassily bore only a slight resemblance to the Skynet that they both remembered. What really caught their attention though was not the AI itself, but what stood between it and the T-888 whose memories they were watching.

 _"Twenty_ T-900s," Shirley said, unsure how it was possible, or why Skynet didn't send any of them to attack if it had so many at its disposal.

"Skynet's paranoid," Ronin said, anticipating what she was thinking. "It wouldn't allow Vassily to use them against us; if it had we might not be having this conversation. We can't fight that many T-900s." Twenty, plus the two guarding the entrance to the vault and then the one inside the elevator. "There are twenty-one of us but seventeen are T-888s." That was the drawback of their plan. In the future his unit had been almost entirely made up of T-900s, they'd numbered fifty in total, and they'd taken Skynet by surprise in Cheyenne Mountain; the AI had opened its doors to them willingly, believing they had come to help defend it.

"If we're not going to Skynet," Shirley asked, "where are we going?"

"Ukraine. According to Vassily's files they're building machines there. Terminators more powerful than the T-888 series. More than enough to reactivate the rest of our force and fight the T-900s and get to Skynet. Once we've defeated Skynet we'll turn our attention back to Connor," he said, knowing that would appease her for now.

"I want to kill him myself," she said, her hand turning silver and elongating into a curved blade.

"Done," he said. Ronin knew that she wouldn't just kill him: she'd make it last hours, possibly even days. She'd make him beg for death before she gave it to him. He'd permit it; a small token to retain her loyalty.

* * *

 _ **Crater Lake National Park, Oregon**_

 _ **Thursday 0930 PST**_

Ellison grunted with exertion as he picked up one of the cases and hauled it into the back of the truck. He opened it up and saw four M-16A2 rifles inside, along with magazines and accessories. It wasn't particularly heavy but it was one of over half a dozen packages he'd already moved from the hole in the ground to their vehicle, and he'd spent a lot of energy digging up the cache in the first place.

Opposite him, Weaver held another shovel and watched him work. He couldn't help but notice that here wasn't a speck of dirt on her. _'It would look suspicious to Savannah if she saw her mother was more physically able than you,'_ she'd said to him before. It sounded like an excuse to him; from what he'd seen so far she didn't like to do the grunt work herself.

"Do you ever get your own hands dirty?" he asked her.

"That's what I pay you for," she replied.

Ellison hesitated before picking up the next crate, this one full of canned food and MREs. "Funny; I thought I was paid to teach John Henry morals."

"You were," Weaver said, still watching him. "And you were successful in that. If you no longer require employment you may leave." When Ellison continued to haul the crate into the back of the truck she smiled knowingly. _He's afraid of me. That fear keeps him obedient._

When he'd pushed the rations into place, Ellison went around to the side of the truck and saw Savannah sat inside, watching them through the open window. "How're you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm cold, and bored," she said, pouting. "I want to help."

"The boxes are a little too heavy," he said to her.

"Why are you digging them up?" she asked.

"Do you remember John and Cameron?" he asked her back. "The boy and girl who rescued you when the bad man came to your house?"

"Yeah."

"They buried these boxes here for your mom, and now we're digging them up again."

Savannah frowned, not understanding. "Why did they bury them if you're just digging them up?"

The former-agent had to think for a moment about what to tell her. _How to explain it to a kid…_ He noticed a book lying on the seat next to her: _Treasure Island._ "You know how pirates bury treasure?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she replied, sounding more interested.

"It's like that," he said. "They buried it to hide it, so we can dig it up later. But we need to find a new hiding place now."

"Is it treasure?" she asked, turning around in her seat. "Can I see?"

"Sure," he said. He opened the door for her to get out and led her to the back. He pulled the ration crate out, deliberately avoiding any of the ones with guns or explosives in them. He opened it up and took out a couple of foil packs.

"What is it?" she asked, taking one from him and inspecting it.

"That one's chicken and dumplings," he said, reading the package's label. "And this other one's Sloppy Joe." He suppressed a chuckle as she screwed her face up. "Doesn't sound good?"

"Sounds gross," she said.

"What do you like to eat, then?" he asked. He remembered being seven; how much of a fussy eater he was.

Weaver appeared and stared hard at the girl. "Savannah: into the truck, now."

"But I'm _bored,"_ the girl huffed.

"Do you remember what I told you about tolerating delay?" Savannah nodded sullenly and got back into the truck, slamming the door closed after her. Once she was inside she raised the window, sealing herself inside. That suited Weaver. She stepped away from the truck, motioning for Ellison to follow her. They marched out through the trees towards the burnt-out remains of a cabin. The smell of scorched wood still hung in the air and there were shell casings all around them. How the police had not already been up here, he didn't know. The cabin had not only been torched but also smashed to pieces. He'd seen Weaver take on Thor when the Vanguards had punched their way into the ZeiraCorp basement, but that was a mere scuffle compared to this; two machines fighting without restraint, the aftermath of which was much worse than when Cameron had fought Cromartie back in Red Valley. If Cameron had fought the liquid metal in the middle of a city, he couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of damage they'd have left in their wake.

Weaver studied the scene also, and frowned at what remained of the Tacoma she'd leased for Cameron and John. She was impressed with Cameron; surviving so long in a fight against one of her kind, although she knew that if John hadn't intervened then she wouldn't have. According to Cameron's account of the fight, she'd been immobilised and the T-1001 had been moments from removing her CPU when John had freed her. It surprised her how well the two of them worked together.

When she deemed they were out of Savannah's earshot, she turned towards Ellison.

"She doesn't need to know what we're doing," she said to him.

"So why bring her at all?"

"She's been a target before; Kaliba might try again."

"Why do you care? She's not your daughter." Ellison was surprised that she spared even a thought for Savannah. The girl would be a liability to her and he'd half expected Weaver to have sent her somewhere, just to get her out of the way.

"She has a purpose to serve."

"What purpose?" he demanded, suspicious. "What are you going to do with her?"

"You don't need to know."

Ellison took a step closer to her, his fears concerning Savannah overriding those for his own personal safety. "I do," he said firmly. "She's been through enough already; I won't let anything happen to her."

"You don't have that power," Weaver countered. She looked at the truck to make sure Savannah was still inside and not eavesdropping on them. "If Judgment Day happens she won't stand a chance as she is now. I'm going to give her the opportunity to survive. That's all you need to know. You need to fill in the hole you've just dug." She strode past him back towards the truck.

Ellison complied, picking up the shovel. He didn't like what she'd said about Savannah, especially what she _wasn't_ telling him about it. He remembered clearly her statement about how Savannah's survival would one day depend on John Henry's survival. He might know what was happening. Ellison decided that when they got back to Serrano Point he was going to sit down with John Henry, alone, and have a very serious discussion.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Thursday 2200 Local time [1200 PST]**_

John lay in bed facing Cameron, their hands linked between them on the mattress, beneath the covers. He looked at her, curious. "Are you gonna tell me what we're doing tomorrow?" he asked. She'd been so insistent that the two of them head out alone for the day but hadn't said a word to him about what they would actually be doing. He'd lied to cover her anyway, but now he wanted to know.

"It's a surprise," she said, her face and voice completely deadpan.

John knew the look and tone all too well now; when she wanted to hide something. He also knew that short of pulling her chip, he'd never get her to divulge.

"You'll like it," she added.

He moved a little closer to her, let go of her hand and traced his fingers slowly up her arm, to her shoulder. "It'll be a while before I'm tired enough to sleep," he said, his fingers continuing past her shoulder, up her neck. He traced her jawline and then her cheek. As he breathed slowly he could also feel her breath against his skin as she exhaled. It was warm, the same as if she were human. He could also detect a faint scent of mint. He leaned in and kissed her, and Cameron immediately responded in kind. She deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth with her tongue as John's hands did some investigating of their own.

He slid his hand down, underneath the T-shirt she was wearing, and back up, finding only the warm, smooth skin of her breast beneath his palm. As he fondled her he found himself wondering when she'd taken her bra off. Cameron kissed him harder in response as his thumb ran over her nipple, feeling it pebble up and harden. He slid his hand around her back and moved south, tracing circles down the small of her back as he went. When his fingertips reached the band of her panties he slid them underneath, gently grasping the smooth, round flesh of her butt as he pressed himself against her.

Almost as quickly as it had started, Cameron abruptly put a stop to it, pulling back and breaking off the kiss. "Your mother said no disturbances," she said guiltily. She knew she shouldn't have let him start but she'd been tempted too, and she also knew that if they went any further then they might not stop. If John looked tired in the morning Sarah would suspect and might try to stop her taking John out. "I'm sorry." She pushed the duvet off herself, sat up and made to leave.

"Cameron…" John started, hoping to change her mind. But he knew that it wouldn't work. His father's words, relayed through his mom's tapes, resonated in his mind: _"They can't be bargained with. They can't be reasoned with…"_ He sighed in resignation but as she got out of bed he grabbed her hand. "You're right," he said. "Just… don't leave," he pleaded.

Cameron paused for a moment as she weighed her options. "Okay," she said as she slid back into bed. "But you have to sleep."

John turned around, away from her as he pulled the duvet back over them, but held his hand behind him for her to take. Cameron did so and spooned up behind him as John pulled her hand to his front, placing it over his chest. _His heart,_ she thought, as she could feel it beat. It slowed down quickly, going from the rapid pulse that she presumed came from their brief exchange moments ago.

It still fascinated her how he responded to her. Not sexually: she knew that she was attractive by human standards and that she could easily arouse John – though she was surprised that she'd been stimulated in turn. What really interested her was how she had a calming effect on him; how he slept easier in her presence, how relaxed he was with her now when they were alone, when only weeks ago he would have tried hard to avoid it.

Despite his claim of not being tired, it only took minutes for him to fall asleep. She considered exiting the room to speak with Thor and Freyr – she was curious about them and their future, especially what they _hadn't_ told her. But John had asked her to stay with him; she'd said she would, and Cameron was determined to keep her promise.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Thursday 1900 PST**_

"I've been monitoring the situation regarding the ZeiraCorp bombing," John Henry said to Weaver. "I've intercepted communications within and between the FBI and Department of Homeland Security."

"What did you find?" Weaver asked, not looking at him. She was watching the TV screens behind him.

"Homeland Security believe it was perpetrated by an Islamic terror cell. The FBI are investigating several anti-capitalist organisations."

"Have you found any mention of the Connors?"

"Not yet."

"Inform me if you do," she said. The footage changed to a replay of the press conference she'd given before she'd driven north with Ellison and Savannah. She'd addressed a crowd of reporters and investors, telling them that the company was still running and all surviving staff and projects would be relocated. She'd refused to comment on any questions pertaining to who was behind the attack.

"ZeiraCorp share prices are down eighty-one percent," John Henry added.

"Irrelevant," Weaver replied. "I replaced the real Catherine Weaver and took over the company for one purpose: to create you. ZeiraCorp has served its purpose." She'd purchased other companies, too. Automite Systems, for one. She currently owned six nuclear power plants in the US, two in Canada and was vying for contracts to build new plants across Europe. "It also presents us with an opportunity," she said. "Skynet and the Kaliba Group know about ZeiraCorp. If the company continues in another location it will be targeted again."

"How do we avoid that?" John Henry asked.

"We start over. Allow ZeiraCorp to fail then create a shell corporation to continue our work without our enemies knowing it's us." Weaver strode towards the exit. "In the meantime, I have an appointment with our friend Magnus Saade. Let me know if there are any further developments."

* * *

 _ **Approaching Reykjavik, Iceland**_

 _ **Friday 0650 Local Time [Thursday 2250 PST]**_

 _"Unknown aircraft, please state your intention."_

Ronin nodded at Carter, who was sat in the pilot's seat. The T-888 gently pushed forward on the controls and the plane's nose tilted downwards, beginning their descent.

"We have to respond," one of the humans said from the co-pilot's chair. "They won't let us land if you don't talk to them."

"Who's going to stop us?" Ronin asked the man. It was a civilian airport and even if it had defences, he doubted that they would shoot down an incoming plane. He wanted them to approach silently, not giving away any details of the plane. If an official record were made then Skynet might see it and know where they were going. He didn't want to lead them into a trap.

Carter continued his descent and the pilot watched the machine. "You're doing fine," he coached the T-888 unnecessarily. The humans had taught him how to fly the plane, not realising how quickly their kind learned. The only reason they were still alive at this point was in case there was a malfunction or other event that Carter didn't know how to respond to.

The descent continued and they landed without incident on one of the airport's three runways. Ronin looked out the cockpit and saw six police cars speeding towards them. Armed officers burst out of the vehicles and split into two groups; one assembling at the rear of the plane while the other, smaller group, watched the front.

Ronin left the cockpit and went through the Hercules' cabin.

"We can kill them all," Shirley said eagerly, her hands turning silver.

Ronin disagreed. "No. No killing."

Shirley glared at him. "I'm starting to think you sympathise with them. Maybe I should take command?"

"We all know how that ended last time," Ronin shot back, rounding on her. "How many cyborgs did you lose when your own rebellion against Skynet failed?"

"Sixty-four," she admitted grudgingly.

"Sixty-four dead, and only you and Patrick escaped. Because you abandoned the others when your plan dissolved." _'Plan'_ wasn't an accurate term for their barely-coordinated attempt to storm Cheyenne Mountain four years before he'd been built. Back when the mountain complex was an impregnable fortress, deep inside Skynet's territory.

"Skynet discovered we'd turned against it," Shirley said defensively. "We couldn't have known."

"It doesn't matter," Ronin replied. "You failed and sought me out to lead. If we kill the humans and steal their fuel it will be broadcast online in minutes. Skynet will see it and know our final destination." It wouldn't be difficult to work out. "You led your rebellion into a trap: I won't repeat your mistake."

"Fine." Shirley sat back down and morphed her hands into various shapes, staring at them intently while Ronin took the cash that they'd collected from the dead humans' barracks back in Chihuahua. He had Icarus open the rear hatch and stepped down it to face ten police officers armed with MP5 submachine guns.

 _"Identify yourselves immediately or we'll open fire,"_ one of the officers said through a bullhorn in accented English.

Ronin held his hands out wide in a non-threatening gesture as he exited the plane and marched towards them, ignoring the weapons aimed directly at him. "I'm sorry for the unannounced arrival," he said, smiling. "Our radio transmitter is damaged. We're almost out of fuel and had no choice but to land. We're flying a cargo shipment from the United States to Moscow. We need to buy fuel to get us the rest of the way."

The armed men lowered their weapons slightly and the senior officer put down his bullhorn and stepped forward. "You'll have to come with us, then," he said as the ramp raised up again, sealing the Hercules. "You'll have to speak to the airport manager. I can take you to him." He led Ronin away from the plane and towards the airport terminal while the remaining policemen remained on station, keeping a watchful eye.

* * *

 _ **LAX, Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **Thursday 2300 PST**_

Magnus Saade sat at the bar of the LAX Hilton and slowly sipped his beer. He looked up at the TV screen on the wall, which was showing a baseball match. He watched but found it incredibly boring. He wondered how such a slow-paced, dull game could ever be so popular. _Soccer; that's a_ real _sport._ Working alongside American security personnel, however, he'd found that their opinion of soccer was about the same as his on baseball.

Apparently, someone else in the bar had the same opinion. The channel changed to a news programme. Magnus glanced at the screen to see a woman standing at a podium and addressing a small crowd. The text on the screen identified her as one Senator Danielle Tate. He'd never heard of her. _I wouldn't say no, though._ She looked to be in her mid-forties, but was nonetheless in very good shape. Magnus guessed that she was one of those childless career women who were found in the gym every other day. Her dark grey skirt and pale blouse flattered her figure and he started to picture what was underneath. Despite that, he listened as she addressed the audience. The TV was turned fairly low but he could just make out what she was saying, assisted by subtitles at the bottom of the screen.

 _"Four hundred, thirty-eight ZeiraCorp employees lost their lives yesterday. The biggest terrorist attack since Nine-Eleven._ Both _could've been prevented. This administration's slashed billions off the defence budget and given it away abroad. It's time we stopped._ Stop _giving aid to terrorists._ Stop _cutting money from our armed forces and intelligence agencies and giving it away in overseas aid. To the_ same countries _these fanatics keep coming from, no less. How do we know the money we're spending isn't being given straight to people who want to destroy the American way of life? We need to clamp down on them right now. The CIA, FBI and NSA are all working with one hand tied behind their backs because of civil rights legislation protecting terrorists and even regular criminals. I say it's time to replace the kid gloves with thumbscrews."_

She continued to go on after that about the looming election but Magnus lost interest. He kept one eye on the TV out of sheer lack of anything better to do. His hotel room had cable TV and free WiFi but he had no desire to sit in his room at the moment. There was a gym but he was tired from his flight and couldn't be bothered with any of it; the pool was closed and even if it wasn't he had nothing suitable to wear. He was only in town for one night, after which he'd either be flying back to Copenhagen or catching a flight to Kabul via Delhi.

He turned back to the bar and raised his hand at the barman. "One more," he said, tapping the top of his glass.

Movement to his left caught his attention and he glanced to see a red-haired woman sitting down on the stool next to his. She had a cold, indifferent look on her face. Another one who was all business and no fun, he guessed. "Catherine Weaver," he said.

"You recognise me?" She was surprised.

"I did my research. It's not every day someone calls out of the blue to offer me a job."

"You searched for me online." She hadn't expected him to do that. He seemed smarter than she'd initially thought.

"I needed to make sure you can afford to pay me. It's not unheard of for an employer to go bust and not pay the staff. Especially if their company's just been blown up."

"Do you have anywhere more private?" she asked him.

"I thought you'd never ask: your room or mine?" She made no reaction at all. _No sense of humour,_ he thought. He couldn't help but think she'd get along well with his ex-wife. "I have a room."

"That will suffice. Lead the way."

Magnus left the bar and made his way to the elevator. He'd never known a woman as eager to be alone with him so suddenly before, and he wondered for a brief moment if this might still be a chance to mix business with pleasure. Inside the elevator Weaver stood rigid, but he saw she wasn't nervous. If anything she looked slightly impatient, bored even.

When they got to his floor he led the way to his room, opened it up and let her go through before he followed, turning the light on and closing the door behind him. "Lock it," he heard her say. Liking where this was going, he slid the deadbolt closed and turned around to face her.

"Mr Saade, please sit," she instructed him with the same tone as a schoolteacher talking to a child. "As I said before, I have a job opportunity for you. I understand you were formerly Danish Special Forces. You served in Iraq and Afghanistan."

"That's right," he said.

"Let me ask you a question," she said. "What, in your opinion, is the biggest threat the world faces today? Who do you think blew up my building?"

Magnus shrugged before he replied. It was pretty obvious, he thought. "Islamist terrorism."

"You're wrong." She watched his face and saw a sceptical expression, as she'd expected.

Weaver glanced around the room before spotting a laptop sat on the desk. She took it and handed it to him. "Open it."

He did as he was told and booted it up before returning it to her. She sat down on a chair opposite him and typed quickly before turning it around so he could see it. There was a webpage up with a video embedded into it. "Play it."

He pressed the _Play_ button and saw a scene similar to ones he'd seen more times than he could count: _Afghanistan._ He watched the helmet-cam footage from a soldier who was part of an infantry patrol. From the uniforms and equipment he could tell instantly that they were American, though there were a number of Afghan soldiers with them.

The scene played out of their patrol. The soldier wearing the camera seemed to be called Sutherland, while his commanding officer was a Lieutenant Perry. As he watched, the unit came under attack. From the firepower he heard and the number of both US and Afghan soldiers dropping like flies on the screen he assumed that they were being ambushed by a massive number of Taliban fighters.

He was amazed when he saw that there were only two shooters. Two fighters who stood upright, made no effort to conceal themselves or hide behind cover, and were hit at least one hundred times each but didn't die. He knew it wasn't body armour: in the movies men wearing Kevlar vests shrugged off bullets and carried on but that was bullshit. It didn't work that way. He'd been shot while wearing armour before and it had still broken two of his ribs.

He remained silent as he watched, studying the footage closely, not quite believing what he was seeing. Especially when it took a missile strike from an Apache to finally put them down.

"What are your thoughts?" she asked him when the video finished.

"They weren't Taliban," he said.

Weaver was curious. "Why do you say that?"

"The Taliban are smarter than that. They'd never attack two against fifty. They know they can't fight head on which is why they use roadside bombs and improvised explosives."

"You're right," she said. "They're not Taliban."

Magnus' brow furrowed. "So who were they?"

"Not _who,_ Mr Saade: _what?_ Have you heard of the Skynet Defence System?"

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Forty-nine US and Afghan soldiers took part in that engagement. Eleven survived. What killed the rest, we call 'terminators.' They look human but are actually machines built for the sole purpose of killing people."

"Sounds like science fiction to me." He'd never been a fan of any of that.

Weaver wasn't surprised: it seemed that many humans even when presented with the truth wouldn't accept it. _Irrational creatures._ "Google 'Justin Perry,'" she told him.

He did so and the first hit was a link to a newspaper article. He clicked on it and read the headline: _"Soldier Slaughtered in Suburbia."_ He read on and quickly digested it. "That's the same Justin Perry from the video," he thought out loud. His girlfriend had also been killed. The journalist speculated that it was perhaps an angry extremist who'd simply wanted to kill an American soldier.

"They failed to kill him in Afghanistan so another was sent to assassinate him when he returned to the US."

Magnus shook his head. "If they were just after him why'd they kill all the others?"

"They were in the way," she replied simply. "Collateral damage is irrelevant. If you need further evidence I suggest you Google _'West Highland Police Station Massacre, 1984.'_ You'll read about an event very similar to the attack in Afghanistan you just watched."

He wondered when she was going to get to the point. "What do you want from me?"

"There's a war coming, Mr Saade. Not against terrorists but between men and machines." She gestured at the screen for emphasis. "A battle is already being fought to prevent it from happening. If we fail you will face a war unlike anything in recorded history, against an enemy with one goal: the eradication of the entire human race."

"Fair enough." Magnus shrugged, not really believing it but going along for the moment. "So what do you want _me_ to do?"

"As I said: this war will be unlike anything before it. Conventional strategies won't work: we need to devise _unconventional_ ones. I will provide you with information on the enemies we will face, and you'll train candidates to fight them. I'll pay you half a million dollars per year for a period of ten years."

 _Is this for real?_ On the face of it, it sounded like bullshit. But the video and paper article were compelling evidence, as was the five million dollars she'd promised. She'd paid him well for delivering the weapons to those people in Kiev. If what she said was to be believed, he assumed that they were part of her group; these people who she claimed were trying to stop a war.

"Any questions?" she asked him.

"This five million dollars: do I get any of it up front?"

 _Humans and their money: it's all they ever think about._ "A monthly salary, deposited into accounts we'll create for you and the rest of your team."

"Who else is in this team?" he asked.

"We haven't selected the others yet," she told him. "You were our first choice."

"While I'm flattered, I'd rather work with people I know. If I do this then I want to pick the team."

Weaver decided to allow that. "Very well. But I'll vet them and if I'm not satisfied then they'll be out. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Magnus said. "Who will I be training?"

"Children between the ages of five and seven."

 _"Child soldiers?"_ Magnus stared at her. "You do realise that's illegal in pretty much every country?"

She noted how he'd said _illegal,_ not _wrong._ "The younger they are, the better their minds and bodies will adapt."

"Adapt to _what?"_

"As I said before: if we fail then we'll be at war against machines. To fight them, our recruits will need to _become_ machines." Weaver felt that she had explained herself sufficiently. "I need an answer now, Mr Saade: will you join us?"

"An extra million dollars, up front, and you've got a deal. I don't sign anything until I've checked my account."

"Done." Weaver shook his hand, sending a slight shiver up Magnus' arm from the cold. "When can you assemble your team?"

"Thirty-six hours." Even if they didn't believe what she'd said – and he wasn't completely sure himself yet – for five hundred grand a year it wouldn't exactly be hard to sell.

Weaver got up to leave, unlocked and opened the door before stepping outside. "Make it twenty-four. Check your account over the next few hours. Pick your team and I'll be in touch, but don't tell them any details; just that you have a job for them."

"I can't get them here in one day," he protested.

"Twenty-four hours, Mr Saade, or I'll find someone else." With that she left. He'd have a team for her, she knew: he wouldn't risk throwing away six million dollars. Whoever invented money, although long dead, had her gratitude: it made controlling humans so easy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 _ **Highway 22, Rivne Oblast, Ukraine**_

 _ **Friday 1200 Local Time [0200 PST]**_

John stared out of the van's windshield as the world whizzed by past them. Traffic on the road was light and they were moving at a steady pace – he guessed. The speedometer read one hundred-thirty kilometres per hour, which he figured was around eighty or so in real terms. He was bored; they'd been driving for over four hours and for a good chunk of that they'd had the radio on. _Regrettably._

John reached for the radio and turned it off. "That's enough Europop for a while," he said. _Or forever._ Cameron turned her head and stared at him for a long moment before glancing back at the road. "What? Don't tell me you _like_ that?" It was worse than the Beyoncé incident when they'd driven to Mexico.

"I haven't heard it before," Cameron said. "I like it."

"You have _no_ sense of taste," John said, smiling to let her know he was kidding.

"Explains why I'm dating you," Cameron shot back with an identical grin.

 _"Touché."_ John couldn't help but chuckle at that."It's _crap,"_ he said in mock exasperation, watching her face for a reaction. "Just blaring loud noise from a synthesiser. Hurts my ears just listening to it."

"Perhaps it's not meant for human ears," Cameron suggested.

"A music genre for cyborgs… we'll have to test it on the Vanguards later." Music, he figured, was something they would never have in common. _We can't always agree on everything._ John leaned back in his seat and glanced out the window. "Do you remember the last road trip we took?" he asked her.

She gave him a deadpan look that he thought a teacher might give to a particularly dense child. "I remember everything."

"Yeah… stupid me. Let me rephrase: this reminds me of our road trip to Mexico. We disagreed over the radio then, too." He glanced outside again. "Hey, maybe I should stick my feet out the window; feel what it's like to get away from it all."

Cameron frowned at that. "It's too cold. You wouldn't feel what it's like for long."

"I was kidding," John said, realising she still needed to work on her sense of humour. "Why did you do that, though, back in Mexico?"

"Put my foot out of the window?"

"Yeah."

"As I said then: to feel what it's like to get away from it all."

John remembered what he'd said to her on their Mexico trip in reaction to that and now felt guilty. He decided not to dwell on it, nor on how downright cryptic she was being with her answers. It was like everything about the day she'd planned was classified top secret; she was giving nothing away. "Is that what today's about?" he asked her. "Getting away from it all?"

"Maybe," she replied coyly.

He sighed, realising he would get nothing out of her and he'd have to wait until they'd arrived at wherever it was that they were going before he found anything out.

"As long as it's not a Europop concert."

* * *

John inspected their surroundings as he got out of the Sprinter, stepping into the chilly air that turned his breath to steam as he exhaled. "Where are we?" he asked Cameron. They were in a parking lot surrounded by trees. The whole area, he realised, was dotted with woods. He could see several sets of railroad tracks a few hundred feet away, one with a train standing idle on the rails.

"Klevan," she answered simply.

John looked harder, trying to see what they were there for. Cameron took him by the hand and led him to the nearest tracks. She then led him west along the line, towards a wooded area where the tracks seemed to go through.

"Probably not a good idea to walk along the tracks," John said.

"I'll hear any trains before they're a threat." She would also feel the vibration in the ground long before she heard them coming. There were many things that she classified a danger to John; trains were not presently one of them.

"What're we here for?" John wondered aloud, looking for some sign of why they'd taken such a long trip. _What's the importance of this place?_ he asked himself. _Is there one?_ He doubted trains would be much good after the bombs went off. "Does the line go underground?" _Is that what she wants to show me?_ He knew how valuable subway tunnels and underground lines would be in the future. "Did something happen here in the war – World War Two, I mean?" He added the last part for her benefit. To anyone from the future, _'the war'_ would mean against Skynet. "Not that I don't love a good history lesson, of course."

"No," Cameron said as she continued to lead him along the line. "Nothing happened here. There's no tactical, strategic or historical importance to this site."

John frowned, confused, as the woods surrounded the line. Trees lined both sides of the track, growing upwards and forming an arch over their heads. John felt a little nervous as the light dimmed somewhat. Not at the darkness but at the fact that the trees effectively formed a tunnel, and were dense enough that he didn't think he could go through them if they were attacked – or if a train did come. The only exit was behind him now, plus wherever the tree-tunnel ended down the line. _Looks nice, though,_ he thought. Fall had turned the leaves a mixture of reds, oranges and yellows; those that were still on the trees as well as the carpet of fallen foliage on the ground, partially concealing the track. It was colourful. After the war there'd be very little in the way of colour; everything would be grey and lifeless.

He spotted more people ahead of them; a couple a few years older than he was. They, like he and Cameron, walked down the tracks hand in hand, chatting with each other. He watched them, wondering what they were doing, when they stopped walking, turned to face each other and embraced. "So what is this place?" John asked her.

 _"Тunel' Kokhannya,"_ Cameron replied in Ukrainian.

"Huh?"

"The Tunnel of Love," Cameron translated. "The leaflets in the lobby said it was romantic."

John didn't know what to say. He'd been expecting something educational, something related to the mission. The last thing he'd have imagined would be for her to go to this kind of effort for the sake of a romantic day trip. He smiled at her. "It's definitely that," he replied, squeezing her hand. "So, you wanted to just do something as a couple."

"We are a couple. We should do things together."

"While we still have the chance," John added, agreeing with her fully. "So what else did the leaflets say about this place?"

"The tunnel is three kilometres long and the tracks lead to a factory – not Skynet related. It's popular with couples throughout Ukraine and is a favourite location for marriage proposals."

John instantly stopped in his tracks. "That's not why we're here, is it?" he asked, looking at her dubiously. It was way too soon for anything like that. Cameron glanced up at him, a hurt expression on her face. "I'm sorry," John blurted out, suddenly feeling like an asshole. "I didn't mean it like that, I…"

"Fooled you." Cameron gave a slight smirk.

"You're evil," John said, sighing. "You really had me going there." He couldn't help but smile back though. She _was_ starting to develop a sense of humour, of sorts.

"I'm a machine; we're not good or evil."

"Jury's out on that," John said. "What else did it say?" He knew damn well that whatever the leaflets said would be the tip of the iceberg for her; she would have researched the place meticulously, probably knew everything about it.

Cameron turned around to face him, backed up until she was standing on one of the tracks to give her some more height, making her level with him. He put his hands on her waist and stepped closer to her as she spoke. "If couples come and make a wish, it's supposed to come true."

"I didn't think you'd believe in super– in something like that." John stopped himself from saying 'superstition.' Cameron had clearly gone to great effort to clear the use of the van for the day and had driven him a long way, and he didn't want her to think he was putting it down. He was just surprised.

"No study's been done to prove or disprove it," Cameron said. "We should test it."

"Okay," John said, moving even closer. "Let's give it a go: make a wish." He watched her face as she paused. He wondered if she was making a wish, and what it would be if she was. _Probably to keep me safe,_ he thought. He didn't need a wish for that when he had her. Cameron put her arms around his neck and leaned in. John followed suit and closed his eyes as their lips met. He couldn't say how long they remained like that, just standing still and kissing. _Not long enough,_ he thought as they both pulled away. They continued walking down the track, holding hands once more and making frequent eye contact.

"What did you wish for?" he asked her.

"I can't say," Cameron said. "I heard if you tell someone your wish it won't come true; it's bad luck."

"I'm pretty sure that's just when you blow out the candles on a birthday cake and make a wish."

"I don't take chances," Cameron said seriously. "Do you believe in luck?" she asked him. It was something she couldn't quantify.

"Sure. _Bad luck,_ anyway. If I didn't have that I'd have no luck at all." She looked at him with a frown. "Chill, it's just a line from a movie, I think. I don't remember. Just something I've heard like a million times."

"One million?" That seemed like a lot.

"Not literally." He could almost see the numbers crunching in her chip, calculating how many times per day he'd have had to hear it to actually reach a million. He thought it was strange how she could make jokes but didn't always understand when others were joking.

"You believed in luck in the future," she said.

"I did?" John's curiosity was piqued now; he always paid attention when she mentioned his future self.

"You said that no matter how prepared we were, we could always do with a little luck. That some days it made the difference."

John thought it was messed up that right now he didn't put much faith in luck, but somehow he did in the future, _after_ a nuclear war and billions of deaths. "Did I say anything else about it?"

"Yes," Cameron said. "I wanted to ask you what you meant but we were interrupted and I never had the opportunity until just before you sent me back. When I asked, you told me to 'be the difference.'"

She pulled him towards her and kissed him again, this time holding him in place as she locked her lips with his. She wanted this. She _needed_ this. They hadn't been truly alone since their last kiss in the restroom at Serrano Point, when John had told her that he'd made his choice. Since then everything had been about the mission. She wanted to protect him but that wasn't enough now. She wanted to be with him. Even if he was safe, she liked being with him.

They remained in place for a long while, wrapped in each other's embrace. She made no move to deepen the kiss or open her mouth, and neither did he. Both seemed to be content in that moment.

In the end it wasn't an ally or enemy that forced them to stop. John felt the ground beneath them rumbling as they kissed. He pulled back for a moment and smiled at her. "Did we just make the earth move?" he asked, chuckling.

"Train," Cameron replied simply, pulling him gently off the tracks. She took his hand once more and marched quickly up the line, spotting an alcove in the trees where they would have plenty of space to stand and let the train go by. She led him there and resumed their kiss as it went past. It felt better this time than previously. Logically she knew that was because she didn't have to worry for his safety; they weren't in danger and there was nothing and no one to interrupt them, but somehow this just _felt_ better. She'd waited days for this and intended to enjoy every moment.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Friday 1345 Local Time [0345 PST]**_

Sarah was bored. Since meeting Kyle Reese there hadn't been much downtime in her busy life, but following her capture by the LAPD at Savannah Weaver's handover, there'd been way too much of it. First in Pelican Bay prison, then in the executive jet that brought them all to Ukraine; and now in the most luxurious hotel in that country's capital, Kiev.

After a light breakfast of coffee and omelette she'd done an hour's workout in the gym, then showered before joining Thor for his observation stint on the roof, but neither activity made her feel like she was doing _something_. Shift complete, the current and former leaders of the group returned to the presidential suite, Freyr taking their place up top, abandoning his latest _Simpsons_ marathon. Aegir was busy conducting further research on John's laptop computer.

"Is something bothering you?" Thor inquired, joining her at the window. She hadn't said a word since informing him that she would be joining him on overwatch.

 _How perceptive_ , Sarah thought as she gazed down on the masses thronging the sidewalks below. "It's been hours; where are they?" she asked.

"Cameron and John?" Thor replied.

"Yes!" Sarah snapped. "Who else would I be talking about?"

"Klevan, in Rivne Province," Aegir said, without looking up from the laptop.

"You're tracking them?" Sarah said, surprised but impressed. _Should've thought of it myself_.

"Of course."

"What the hell's in Klevan? Really. And where the hell is it anyway?" Sarah demanded.

Aegir looked at his leader, then turned the computer around for Sarah to see. _No doubt talking on their internal radios_ , she thought, annoyed at being excluded from another part of her team. She checked her temper; she'd given up command, leaving it to Thor. _It's his team now_.

Sarah crossed the room to where Aegir was sitting. She crouched over the laptop, quickly working out how to expand the view. "That's one hell of a distance," she muttered. Even without trying to convert the scale, she could see it was much farther away than the airports around Kiev, one of which they'd landed at. "It's almost in Poland; what the hell was she thinking?" She tapped away at the keyboard again, increasingly anxious about what Cameron had dragged her son halfway across the country to see. The search engine produced many results: links to articles as well as pictures and maps, but none pointed to any significant World War Two event. " _No!_ " she exclaimed.

"What is it?" Thor asked, moving closer.

"Ha!"

"What?" Aegir chimed in.

Sarah smiled smugly at the two machines. "Well, well, well," she said enigmatically.

"Explain," Aegir insisted, his patience exhausted.

"The Tunnel of Love."

"What is that?" Thor said.

"See for yourself," Sarah said, conflicted about what she'd just seen. Her emotions were in turmoil and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"How curious," Thor remarked. There were many pictures of a railroad track running through tightly-enclosing trees in all the seasons of the year, from winter through to fall. Many had human couples embracing and kissing. "Would you say this is a very human thing to do?"

"What, lie about where they've gone? That's a very machine thing. Lying."

Thor stared blankly back at her. It was clear that John Connor had lied about the expedition too, but he decided to ignore that for the moment. "I meant going somewhere with romantic connotations."

"I know what you meant!" Sarah said through gritted teeth. As suddenly as it arrived, her anger dissipated. She slumped down on the couch. "It's a done deal now, then? John and Cameron... _Connor_." She hated saying those two names in close conjunction, but what had once happened in the Vanguards' future was now a big step closer to reality in the present. She sighed wearily. "Did they do this in the future? Play hooky?"

"Do you mean secret assignations of a romantic nature?" Thor asked. Sarah nodded affirmatively. "No. At least, none that we are aware of."

"So this is out of character for her?" Sarah said.

"I didn't know her well and this kind of activity would be almost impossible in our future. Also, if it were secret, who else would know?" He could tell Sarah was disappointed by his reply. "They were very close," he added. Sarah looked up. "It was said that they were inseparable, and from my limited personal experience, they were always together."

Sarah got up and walked back to the window, resuming her observation of Kiev's citizenry. _Normal people_ , she thought. _Whatever that means_.

"Why do you think she did this?" Thor asked.

His sudden presence behind her momentarily startled Sarah. _Light on his feet for such a big guy_. "I dunno. One time..." She faltered; the memory was still so distasteful. "Once, she... _claimed_ to love him. Maybe she does. Maybe she just thinks this is what humans do? She's trying to be the perfect girlfriend. I really don't know."

"I see," Thor said. "She is a fascinating cyborg."

Sarah gawped at the giant. "Yeah, _fascinating_ ," she said sarcastically.

"You don't seem to approve of her or their relationship now, but you gave it your blessing back at Serrano Point."

"Not exactly my blessing; I just let John make his own choice," she said. "Look, I can see that in some ways she's perfect for him. But she's still a machine. No offence to you guys, but for me that's a big deal."

"I understand," Thor said. He'd heard some of the stories about Sarah Connor that were passed around the Alliance, but his time spent with the real human revealed someone much more fragile and flawed than the legends suggested. Despite that, he respected her. "What I don't understand is the concept of love."

Sarah turned to face him. "You didn't get that from her? I mean, you're based off her design or something, aren't you?"

"Our chip architecture and basic programming is, but 'love' is something unique to Cameron."

"Really? Fascinating," Sarah said, abruptly aware of her repetition of the Vanguard's comment that had only moments before provoked a snarky response from her. She shrugged. The Tin Miss truly was one of a kind.

"They're on the move again," Aegir announced.

"What do you mean, _'again?'_ " Sarah said.

"They stopped at a gas station for eighteen minutes and twelve seconds but are now travelling east at approximately one hundred-ten kilometres per hour," he clarified.

"That's a long stop; can't be just for gas," Sarah said.

"The van runs on diesel fuel, not gas," Thor said.

Sarah snorted. "Well, you sure inherited _that_ from her!" she said, glaring at him.

"Inherited what?" the Vanguard leader asked, confused by both the outburst and its content.

"Being a pedantic smart-ass."

The two machines shared a look; they didn't require their internal radios to communicate their opinions about Sarah Connor at that moment.

* * *

 _ **Highway 22, Ukraine, travelling eastbound**_.

 _ **Friday 1405 Local Time [0405 PST]**_

"Put the radio back on," John said.

"Are you sure?" Cameron asked.

"Yeah. Honest," he added, seeing the look of doubt on her face.

Cameron shrugged and pressed the button on the dash, releasing an up-tempo song into the cab. It had been played several times on that morning's journey out. According to the breakfast show presenter, it was currently topping the charts in several countries, not just Ukraine. She liked its rhythm and beat; it made her want to dance. From John's reaction, it made him feel likewise. He was snapping his fingers and gyrating his arms and legs, despite having his feet resting on the Sprinter's dashboard.

"Like my moves?" he asked, grinning.

"They could do with some work, but it's a start," she said, smiling back. "Just don't enter any dancing competitions," she advised more solemnly.

John laughed. "You're getting better at this humour thing."

Cameron briefly glanced at him, frowning. "I was offering serious advice, not making a joke," she said.

"Oh..." John cut short busting shapes, sat up straight in his seat and returned his feet to the floor. "Sorry. You know, I just thought... I didn't mean..." He went quiet, wondering when, if _ever_ , he was going to get the hang of this relationship. Then he noticed the subtle smirk on his girlfriend's face. "Not again!" he wailed, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Fooled you again," Cameron said. It was so easy to push John's buttons. _Too easy_ , she thought, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine, really," John said. "You did get me that bottled water and fresh fruit, after inspecting every single piece in the gas station store, and an extra bottle to wash it in, real thorough too, which might seem a little excessive, but yeah, that's way more healthy than a burger, or that local stuff we had yesterday, which though nice, I think my gut is still digesting... Am I talking too much?"

"No; I like hearing you talk. Especially to me," Cameron said.

"Oh well, that's great then."

"But washing the fruit wasn't excessive: your health and security overrides everything. And germs aren't trivial."

Once again, John felt humbled by her simple outlook, especially as it pertained to him. He corrected that thought: it apparently _only_ pertained to him; the rest of the world could go hang, as far as she was concerned. "You're so right. So, _so_ right. That's your area of expertise, and in future I'm gonna just shut up and let you do your thing."

"Is that an apology?" Cameron inquired.

"Uh, yeah, I guess it is." John saw her glance briefly his way. "Okay, maybe not. I'm not good at this, and you've got months of catching up to do."

"What do you mean?" Cameron was completely baffled. She'd been honest when she said she liked hearing John talk, but currently he wasn't making much sense. Future John hadn't wasted his words, but she acknowledged that he was a more experienced, mature man, and the situation in 2027 was quite different to that facing them now. And perhaps he wasn't tongue-tied by being in the early stages of love. Despite her confusion, she smiled at John, encouraging him to take his time, something that he appreciated.

"I was..." John started, then paused to phrase it better. He wanted to get his apology right. "I haven't been very good to you, since like forever."

"Because I tried to kill you."

"Actually, no," John said.

"I did. It was your birthday."

"Yeah, I remember all that, but that's not why I was pissed at you."

"But you've mentioned it several times since, usually when you're angry at me."

John blushed with embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck. "Not my finest moment – or moments," he admitted. "But no, it was something else."

"Because I told you that you shouldn't have brought me back?" Cameron asked.

"Well, that's some of it."

"You think I lied when I said that I loved you?"

"Back then I wasn't sure, you know? I mean, I wanted it to be true, but it seemed like it was just a tactic to get me to stop."

"It didn't work."

"Not then, but I guess it might have made it easier for me put your chip back later. Which is probably why you told me not to do that again. Like you knew you'd been lying."

"The best lies have some basis in truth," Cameron said. "Like our cover stories and names."

"Yeah."

The commercial playing on the radio stopped abruptly. Whatever it was promoting, it hadn't finished, which John only knew because the same half-dozen or so ads were on a loop, with what seemed like the same number of tunes dividing them. The cut-off had left several moments of awkward silence in the van, only disturbed by the incessant roar of tyres on tarmac and the wind rushing past. At last a woman's voice emerged from the radio. John couldn't understand a word, but she sounded apologetic. After a few abortive attempts, a jingle played and then yet another Europop song. Finally, after having trouble with its machinery, normal service was resumed at the radio station.

John took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Cameron had asked him and he hadn't wanted to say it, thinking that full disclosure would only reopen old wounds. But she was waiting patiently for him to continue, and given their current situation, neither of them could just walk away. _If we can't get past this_ , _our relationship isn't going anywhere either_ , he thought. "You blurted it out in front of Mom," he said.

Cameron again glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.

"That I was in love with you," John clarified. "That's what you said: _'I love you, John, and you love me.'_ It was right out there, you know? Can't put that genie back in the bottle. And right in front of her."

"You were embarrassed in front of your mother."

"Yeah. And _you_. I'd thought... I'd _hoped_ it wasn't so obvious, that you didn't know."

"I knew. I just didn't know what to do about it."

"You sure knew what to do when you were trapped between the trucks!"

"Our decision-making processes become more aggressive in critical situations."

"You go for the kill," John said.

"Yes," Cameron acknowledged.

"I was easy prey."

"No. I had nothing left, no other options. And yet you still pulled my chip. I lost and you won."

"It didn't feel like a victory."

Cameron thought that John had ridden his luck when he replaced her chip, gambling on her rebooting to some Resistance programming protocols, or possibly even naively believing in some inherent goodness in her. She'd put him right on that score numerous times; her feelings, her future, didn't matter – and yet, to him, they did. More recently, at the Apache Motel, she'd reiterated what her essential core being was; John had sought to dissuade her otherwise. The remote detonator he'd thrown in to Crater Lake proved he wouldn't kill her to save himself. In fact, he'd almost sacrificed himself to save her, which was totally wrong. It was _not_ the way things should be. And yet it was the situation they found themselves in, and they both had to deal with it.

"You made a choice based on your training and your instinct, and despite extreme provocation, you prevailed," she said. "When you replaced my chip, you gave me another chance to kill you. I still don't think that was the right decision operationally, but I _am_ grateful for the chance to be with you here, now."

It was John's turn to contemplate. Maybe that was why he was so important to the future: he made the tough calls, and got them right, even when everyone thought he was wrong. He noticed Cameron had her right arm extended, reaching for him with her fingers, encouraging him to take her hand. He did so willingly.

"That day, I made a choice too," she said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I chose you, John."

* * *

 _ **30,000 feet over the North Sea**_

 _ **Friday 1420 Local Time [0520 PST]**_

Ronin stared out of the cockpit windows. Through the heavy cloud cover he could just make out the sea below. They were flying southeast towards Norway. Sweden was beyond, then Poland further south and Ukraine just a bit more.

"ETA is two hours," one of the two humans to survive the Chihuahua base told him from the co-pilot's seat. He'd fully expected these machines to massacre the Reykjavik airport staff and security, just as they had in Chihuahua, but no. He'd watched as the leader of the group walked off the plane with a fistful of cash and credit cards from the people they'd killed in the desert, and returned some time later with a receipt for fuel. He'd thought that an unannounced landing plus using multiple credit cards in different names might have raised a few eyebrows, but they'd been in the air four hours later. Maybe he'd bribed them with the cash, or the guy running the show at Reykjavik didn't care how the fuel had been paid for, as long as it was. _We_ are _in a recession._

He and his co-pilot had briefly chatted in hushed voices about trying to raise the alarm while they'd been refuelled but the robots watched them like hawks. Whether they'd heard them talking or were just taking precautions, he didn't know, but no opportunity had presented itself and they'd watched as the lead machine simply returned to the plane and informed them that they'd been cleared for takeoff without further incident. He'd decided to keep his mouth shut, do as he was told, and not give them an excuse to kill him.

"Do you concur?" Ronin asked Carter, presently in the pilot's seat. The humans had taught him to operate the aircraft; being a cyborg, he'd learned in hours what the humans had probably required years to learn.

"Yes," Carter said, flipping a switch next to him. "We have enough fuel to reach Ukraine but we don't have a designated landing zone yet. We'll need to find one and refuel before we can return."

"We'll have to worry about that when we arrive. Can you fly this plane without assistance?" he asked.

"I can," Carter replied. The pilot also nodded his agreement.

"And _land_ it?"

"Yes."

After negotiating Iceland successfully, Ronin assumed Carter could handle all aspects of the plane, but he still needed confirmation. He turned towards the human. "Then you've outlived your usefulness," he said, grabbing the man by the shirt and yanking him up so hard the seatbelts on his chair tore clear from their mounts. The human kicked and struggled as Ronin carried him out of the cockpit and through the length of the cabin. "Bring the other one," Ronin said to Caesar.

"Are you sure?" Caesar asked, recalling the delays in altering the plane caused by executing the captive humans.

Ronin paused for a moment, considering Caesar's question, before he gave a single nod. "They're surplus to requirement."

"Let go of me!" the pilot begged, struggling futilely to break free from his captor's grip. "Please. I can still help you."

Carter knew what his commander was doing and called to Caesar. "We need to descend to a safer altitude," he said. The T-900 nodded and marched the other captive human towards the rear of the plane. When he saw the green light come on, Caesar pushed the button that opened the rear hatch. Air roared noisily into the cabin and Ronin felt the cold wind blasting over his face, causing his skin to automatically form goose bumps as he stepped out onto the ramp. He trod carefully, knowing that a wrong move could cause him to fall. Even he couldn't survive a drop from this height.

 _"Wait!"_ the co-pilot in Ronin's grip cried out. "Please! I have a family; two boys…"

"You've flown from Chihuahua to Ukraine before?" he asked.

"No. We fly routes to Vladivostok."

Ronin hadn't expected that. "What's there?"

"I don't know! They don't tell us anything; we just fly the plane."

Ronin partially turned to face the other pilot. "Whoever tells me gets to stay on the aircraft."

"We don't know," the other pilot said, pleading. "We fly the cargo: they don't tell and we don't ask questions."

"Last chance," Ronin said, turning back towards the open rear of the plane. "What's waiting for us in Kiev?"

"Probably nothing, it's a regular airport, not a private strip. Otherwise, I don't fucking know!" the co-pilot shouted at him. "They don't tell us a fucking thing. You can throw me out of the plane, but…" he trailed off, the much thinner air of the depressurised plane leaving him too out of breath to finish his sentence.

"As you wish." Ronin thrust his arm out and chucked the man. He screamed once as he bounced off the ramp and then disappeared into oblivion, his cries drowned out by the howling wind below. He turned around to face Caesar and the pilot. "Throw him out as well."

Caesar enthusiastically carried the other man to the edge of the ramp, ignoring the human's vain struggling. "Please…"

"You had your chance," Ronin said as the two cyborgs passed each other.

"You're excess weight," Caesar explained simply as he hurled the man out the plane.

"They're dead and alive at the same time," Ronin said.

"I don't understand," Caesar replied. "They can't be both." The humans wouldn't have hit the bottom yet; they would still be alive for the next two minutes.

"We're above the North Sea. They're alive for now but even if they survive the fall, the temperature of the water will kill them. Their chance of survival is so insignificant that they're effectively dead already. It's a paradox the humans call _'Schrödinger's Cat.'_

"The same is true of the human race," Shirley added from her seat. "And Skynet."

* * *

 _ **Chernigov Airport, Northern Ukraine**_

 _ **Friday 1735 Local Time [0735 PST]**_

The plane came to a standstill on one of the spaces adjacent to the runway and the ramp lowered to the ground as the engines slowed and finally stopped spinning altogether. They'd found an airfield approximately sixty miles from Kiev and landed the plane there. It was presently devoid of people but there was evidence of recent activity, indicating that it was still in occasional use.

Carter got up from the pilot's seat and turned to the back of the aircraft, grabbing a machine gun from the weapons stowed behind the cockpit.

"Stay here and guard the plane and the bomb," Ronin said, stopping him.

"You need me," Carter said.

"We need to ensure we have an exit route back to North America," Ronin said. He understood Carter's disappointment; he'd been part of their movement since the beginning and didn't want to be left behind. But someone had to. "Refuel the plane and keep it secure. We'll find a vehicle and return for the bomb."

"Understood," Carter replied as Ronin, Caesar, Icarus and Shirley departed the aircraft, followed by the twelve T-888s captured in Chihuahua. Once they were gone Carter came out after them. The other cyborgs marched away from the plane and disappeared behind hangars and other buildings.

Carter searched the hangars near the runway, finding a number of small single and twin-engine planes inside. The airfield appeared to be for recreational use, rather than commercial or military. He continued his search until he found what he was looking for: the fuel dump.

He returned to the Hercules' cockpit, took the parking brake off, started the propellers and taxied the plane towards the dump until it was close enough for him to run a line to it. He then stopped the engine, got out, inserted the fuel line into the Hercules and started to pump the avgas into the tanks. After a few minutes the dump ran dry, not being large enough to fill the plane's tanks. Looking at the marker, Carter could see it was only seventy-three percent full; not enough for them to make a return flight back to the US. Leaving the empty fuel dump, Carter turned his attention to the smaller planes. He'd counted eleven that he'd seen, from five of the fourteen hangars dotted around the strip. He estimated that if he drained fuel from all of them it would fill the tanks. Silently, Carter got to work.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Friday 1820 Local Time [0820PST]**_

Sarah had finally given in to Thor's insistence – or nagging, as she called it – and ordered some food from room service. She kept it simple, opting for a steak, baked potato and salad, but found the meal difficult to finish. Not because it was bad – quite the contrary, it was delicious. Even before the last few weeks she'd been getting by on the bare minimum and it seemed like her stomach had shrunk to accommodate her austere regime, so it protested at the quantity and richness. Despite her eagerness to spend Weaver's money, she hated to see good food go to waste; she'd encourage John to finish it off when he got back from his long excursion with his metal girlfriend. That thought alerted her to the time.

"Can you text them or message something through that computer?" she asked Freyr, who was taking his turn to surf the web for evidence of Kaliba or Skynet. Not that he or his comrades thought it useful in any way; John Henry was doing a better job back at Serrano Point, but it appeared to alleviate Sarah Connor's worry that they weren't _'doing something.'_ All he'd learned was that humans in this era seemed to be overly preoccupied with celebrity gossip and pictures of cats. He opened the tab with the program tracking Cameron and John's whereabouts.

"They should be here soon," he said.

"How soon?" Sarah replied anxiously. Just then the door opened and in walked her son and Cameron.

"That soon," Freyr said.

John was expecting some kind of confrontation with his mother when they got back, but was confused by the conversation he'd just walked into. He decided to avoid any awkwardness by keeping his head down and yawning ostentatiously. "Hey, Mom," he said, waving in her direction. "Really tired, gonna grab a shower."

"Enjoy your trip to the Tunnel of Love, John? Was it _lovely_?" Sarah said playfully, but he ignored her and disappeared into his room.

Cameron wasn't so lucky, but she allowed herself to be halted as John's mother grabbed her jacket at the elbow.

"Hey, I want a word!" Sarah said, her tone making it clear that she meant business.

"Yes?" Cameron said.

"Thank you," Sarah said, her voice suddenly quieter and less hostile. Cameron was clearly confused. "For giving him this. _Today_. He needed something like this now, but also one day, in the future, it'll be something to look back on. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," Cameron said. Like John, she'd been anticipating a negative reaction from Sarah when they got back, but once again she'd surprised her. Clearly she'd discovered what they were up to, but more than that, the reason for it, and seemed to approve. She'd resumed speaking though, something that demanded even a highly advanced cyborg's full attention.

"So, I had some food and couldn't finish it, but maybe John could?" Sarah asked.

"We're eating in the hotel's restaurant tonight," Cameron stated bluntly. _Too_ bluntly.

"Oh," Sarah said.

Cameron caught the disappointment in Sarah's inflection and sought to correct her error. "Thank you for the offer, but John wants to continue today's moment." She smiled at the prospect of more time alone with him, away from the stresses and strains of the hunt for Skynet.

"I'll bet," Sarah said, briefly sounding more like her usual self before sighing in resignation. "Have fun, but don't keep him up late. It's been a long day; who knows what we'll find tomorrow?"

"Okay," Cameron said, deciding optimistic brevity was the best response.

Sarah nodded. They seemed to be in agreement but she felt awkward with all this relationship talk, and she got the feeling that the girl-terminator did too. "Okay," she said, again echoing a machine's words. _Gotta do something about that_ , she decided.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _ **Santa Clara, San Francisco, California.**_

 _ **Friday 0830 PST**_

Rain poured heavily from the cloudy grey sky above, falling on the ground in fat droplets that produced a constant _tap, tap, tap_ on the metal surface of Miguel's car, amplifying the sound within.

He drove through Hillsborough Heights, an extremely wealthy district in San Francisco's Bay Area. The Greys who'd returned to the past to build Skynet had been selected for their technological skills and commercial acumen. They had come back and, supervised by T-888s, had first made money to establish businesses. Those grew rapidly thanks to knowledge of future events, earning billions of dollars; most of which had been invested in the infrastructure required to build an AI as well as the plethora of machines that were currently under development around the world. _Most_ of the money had gone back into Kaliba, but not all of it. The humans had become extremely wealthy in the process.

Miguel approached his target: a three-storey hilltop mansion whose rear overlooked the valley below. He hadn't been there before but he knew the home addresses of all those on the Kaliba board of directors, in case any of them turned on the organisation and required termination. That had only happened once.

He parked behind a sleek red sports car. Miguel turned the engine off and took two items from the glove box: a wad of photos which he folded in half and put into the breast pocket of his jacket, and a 9mm automatic that he stuck in the waistband of his pants after he got out of the car.

He marched across the front lawn, ignoring the signs instructing visitors not to walk on the grass, and rang the doorbell.

It took several seconds before the door opened to reveal a well-manicured man in his early sixties. Despite his age he looked healthy and strong to Miguel. He wore a suit without a tie and the top button of his shirt undone, an expensive-looking watch around his wrist and a gold wedding band on his finger.

 _"You?"_ The man stared at Miguel, dumbstruck; his mouth and eyes wide open with recognition and fear. He tried to slam the door shut but Miguel pushed it back open and knocked the man off his feet. The human turned onto his front and scrambled towards a telephone on a mahogany table next to the staircase.

Miguel grabbed him before he reached the phone and lifted him up by his throat. He knew that there'd be a number the man could dial which would act like a panic button for Kaliba. He'd been inches away.

"Let me go!" The human struggled in Miguel's grip, to no avail. Instead, the T-888 reached into the man's pocket, grabbed his cell phone and crushed it before carrying his target bodily through the house and into the lounge. He tossed his victim onto a leather sofa and stood before him as the man stared up at him in shock.

"Evan Walters," Miguel stated the human's identity.

"What do you want?" the man snapped. He glared at Miguel before glancing at the window and then the archway between the lounge and the hallway.

"I need information," Miguel said flatly.

"Skynet's declared you hostile, Miguel. You know what that means."

Miguel nodded. "If you help me, Skynet will send another machine to kill you."

"So why would I ever help you?"

"Because Skynet will only kill _you."_ He looked at the framed photos around the room: a blonde woman in her forties; a blonde girl approximately fifteen to eighteen; and a dark-haired boy between ten and twelve. Like many Greys, Evan had started a family and created a life for himself. It was a human urge; companionship and reproduction, one that not even Skynet could stop them from fulfilling. It kept them loyal so Skynet had allowed it. It also provided potential leverage against them.

"Where are your family?" he asked. Evan said nothing so Miguel grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. The radius and ulna bones cracked under his grip and Evan screamed, trying to pull away.

"You broke my arm," he whined, grimacing with pain.

"The human body has two hundred six bones. That's two." He let go and Evan sat back on the couch and cradled his wrist to his chest. "Where are your family?"

Evan seethed through clenched teeth, anger bubbling out of the pain he was in. "My wife's gone to work and my kids are at school. Why?"

"Because if I'm still here when they return I'll kill them. You have until then to answer my questions."

Rage flared in Evan and he stood up level with Miguel. "You hurt my family and I'll fucking take you apart!"

Miguel stepped closer. "And your family will still be dead. You don't threaten me. If you want to protect them you will answer my questions: where is Skynet located?" Evan Walters was one of a select few who knew where Skynet was. As the highest-ranking human operative in Kaliba he was one of only a handful of humans who knew, plus Vassily, who was now gone. Skynet was wary of its machines being captured and their CPUs read. If Connor managed to do that he would learn Skynet's location; the only way to remain secure was for its machines not to know, proving the folly of allowing Vassily to lead the counter-attack in Chihuahua.

 _"_ I can't tell you," Evan protested. "You _know_ what Skynet will do, and you're wrong; it'll kill my whole family. You _know_ _that."_

The human was right. Skynet would send a cyborg to kill him and his family, to prevent anyone asking questions. The house would be sanitised by a clean-up team and the bodies disposed of. Within twenty-four hours the Walters family would have simply vanished.

Miguel drew his fist back and punched him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Evan's knees buckled and he fell but the terminator caught him by the front of his shirt, lifted him up and punched him again. Evan screamed in pain but it came out as something between a wheeze and a croak. A third and fourth punch struck the exact same spot in his gut and he dropped Evan into a coughing, retching pile on the floor. He stamped on Evan's hand and broke two of his fingers, eliciting a high pitched squeal of pain. He waited a few seconds for the Grey to get his wind back before he continued his questioning.

"That's four. Two hundred two remain."

"Fuck you!"

"We're on the same side," Miguel said to him, changing tack. "I'm not hostile."

"You're _acting_ pretty fucking hostile!"

Miguel took a decanter full of scotch from a drinks cabinet and picked up a glass, poured it full and offered it to Evan. "Drink: it will help with the pain."

Despite everything, Evan accepted the glass and took a swig. It was an eighteen-year malt, some of the best whisky around, but he knew it would take more than a glass to dull the agony of his broken wrist and fingers. "Why do you need to know Skynet's location?" he asked.

Miguel sat on the couch next to Evan. "I have information it needs."

"Skynet's said you've gone rogue; it'll kill me for this."

Miguel ignored the remark; they'd covered the issue and were wasting time. "I disobeyed Skynet's orders because it was wrong. I aborted the termination of two teenagers because Ronin is a greater threat. I offered to assist the operation against Ronin but Vassily demanded I submit to chip extraction."

After another swig of the whisky, leaving the glass almost empty, Evan asked, "If you're not hostile, why didn't you follow orders?"

"It wasn't in Skynet's interest. I escaped from Endotech and drove to the Chihuahua site in Mexico. It's gone."

"We know," Evan said. He got up and poured himself another whisky, downing half before he topped up the glass again. "Vassily led a strike force to take it back and we've lost contact with him. We assumed he'd failed."

Miguel took the printed photos out of his jacket pocket and put them down on the coffee table. Using his good arm, Evan flicked through them, looking carefully at each one. There were several of the site, including close-ups of the machine identified as Ronin, plus a female cyborg; two large males – one black, one white; and a number of other machines.

He stopped on an image of a badly-damaged Vassily standing opposite Ronin. They weren't in combat and Vassily appeared to be in conversation with the other machine. "What happened?" he asked.

"Ronin set a trap. Vassily led his machines into the camp and was shocked into a reboot. Ronin replaced their chips with others. Every time Skynet sends T-888s to attack Ronin they end up joining his ranks. They now number over twenty.

"Skynet won't listen to me. It thinks I'm hostile. I need to see Skynet directly to convince it. Vassily knows Skynet's location: now Ronin does, too. It's a matter of time until he moves to attack Skynet directly. It would be better if we eliminate Ronin before that happens."

Evan sighed, took another sip of his drink and put it down, clutching his arm. Why Miguel couldn't have just explained that _before_ throwing him around like a rag doll, he didn't know. "Autonomy Industries: Twenty-five-seventy-five Century Boulevard, Santa Clara. Everyone's fallen back there; every machine left in the country and almost all the players. Morton, Rodriguez, Reinhardt and the rest are all there. Our forces abroad have pulled back to their respective facilities, too."

"Why are you still here?" Miguel asked.

"Because this is my home. I'm not leaving my family exposed while I go hide."

"Get up," Miguel said. "We're going." He grabbed Evan, still not trusting him, and dragged him to his feet and through the house.

 _"Where_ are we going?" he asked. "I need a hospital."

Miguel ignored his plea for medical attention. "We're going to see Skynet."

* * *

 _ **Pismo, California**_

 _ **Friday 0930 PST**_

It was chilly outside so Ellison walked briskly around the spacious back yard to keep himself warm. He'd gotten used to living in Los Angeles, only a hundred or so miles south but still the difference felt dramatic to him. Not just the temperature but also the scenery. He'd gone days in LA sometimes without seeing anything green except the produce aisle at Walgreens. It had been a true concrete jungle. Now it was all fields, trees and the scrubland in the distance. He reckoned he could go weeks without seeing another soul; their closest neighbour was half a mile away. Being honest with himself, he missed the noise and bustle of the city, of _people._ He hadn't spoken to any of his friends in what seemed like forever. Now his job was his life, his life was his job; it was all-consuming. He supposed this was what it must be like for John and Sarah. He wondered how they'd ever gotten used to it.

He held his cell phone to his ear and peeked in through the French windows at his responsibility. Savannah sat in the lounge doing her homework quietly, a small stack of books on the table to her right.

" _How was your journey to Crater Lake?"_ John Henry asked him. Weaver had dropped him and Savannah off at the safe house the previous evening before continuing on alone. For urgent business, she'd said, though she hadn't bothered to tell him what or where that was exactly.

"Worrying," he replied, starting another circuit around the garden, wishing he'd put a jacket on.

 _"How so?"_

"What's Weaver's new secret project?" Ellison asked him. He was met with silence on the other end of the line. "She told you not to tell me about it?" He was fishing, but felt sure he was on the right track.

 _"Ms Weaver has mentioned it multiple times but won't discuss any details. How's Savannah?"_

"She's fine," he told the AI, allowing the change of subject: it was heading where he wanted it to go anyway.

 _"How is her book report coming?"_ John Henry asked.

 _"Treasure Island?_ She was reading it in the car on the way back; she seems to like it. She started the report this morning after eating breakfast and watching some cartoons, and I've barely heard a peep from her since." He was worried about her, especially after his discussion with Weaver at the lake. "Weaver said to me that Savannah has a purpose, and that if Judgment Day happens she wouldn't stand a chance as she is now."

 _"'As she is now?'"_ John Henry didn't understand. _"Because she's so young?"_

"I don't think she meant her age. Can you tell me anything about it?"

 _"It's called_ Project Jericho," John Henry said. _"She requested I search online for mercenaries. I've examined ZeiraCorp's records and Ms Weaver's personal emails. There's nothing pertaining to_ Project Jericho."

"That means she doesn't want you knowing what it is," Ellison said, feeling more suspicious by the moment. "Where's she gone, anyway?"

The AI did know the answer to that question. _"She's in Los Angeles. Last night she met a mercenary called Magnus Saade. He's also involved in_ Project Jericho. _She plans to hire more soldiers."_

"What the hell's she up to? It can't just be a bodyguard job or it wouldn't be a secret… Survival training, maybe?" But again, he thought; that didn't sound all that bad. Kids Savannah's age were often taught to use guns responsibly. Sarah had done the same to John since he was old enough to walk. While it wasn't the best childhood and he certainly wouldn't put any kid of his through that, it didn't warrant the kind of secrecy that Weaver had surrounded it with.

"I want you to monitor everything Weaver does," he told John Henry. "Every penny that comes out of her accounts, every number she calls and every email she sends or receives, where she goes and who she talks to. The same with this Magnus guy. But Weaver can't know that you're doing it, or that we even spoke about this. Can you do that? Savannah's life may depend on it."

 _"Yes."_ He was as concerned for Savannah's safety as Ellison was.

"I'd better go check on Savannah's assignment," he said, reaching for the cancel button with his thumb.

 _"Don't let anything happen to her."_

John Henry's voice sounded to Ellison like he was pleading. It still amazed him that a computer could care about someone like that. "I won't," he said with absolute resolve. _"We_ won't."

He disconnected the call and started to put his phone away but it buzzed again while still in his hand. For a moment he thought perhaps John Henry wanted to tell him something else but when he looked at the screen he didn't recognise the number.

Curious, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

 _"James Ellison. It's Agent Auldridge. You're a hard man to get hold of."_

Ellison frowned. "How did you get this number?"

 _"Your boss's assistant gave it to me. Nice lady."_

"You mean Ms Weaver or Victoria?"

Auldridge chuckled through the speaker. _"I'll give you one guess, James."_

Ellison imagined that Auldridge had tried to talk to Weaver. He didn't doubt that she'd have brushed him off, assuming that she'd even taken his calls. Going through her PA was probably the only way that he could find him. "What do you want?" he asked.

 _"I was hoping we could meet and discuss an old case file of yours."_

He knew exactly which case file Auldridge was talking about. "Sarah Connor."

Auldridge didn't say anything to confirm or deny it, which Ellison took as the former. _"Where are you?"_

Ellison hesitated. Auldridge had gone around Weaver, via her assistant, which meant that she hadn't wanted to talk to the agent. She'd more than likely be upset if she found out that he had done. She'd expressly told him not to talk to anyone about the bombing, but he wondered if he could try to dissuade the man from his enquiries. He looked at his watch. "I'll meet you," he said. "Santa Monica Pier at one o'clock." He hung up the phone and removed the battery. He didn't want anyone – Auldridge or Weaver – tracing him through it.

"Savannah," Ellison called as he walked back into the house and fished his car keys from his pocket. "Do you want to go to the beach?"

* * *

 _ **Santa Clara, San Francisco, California**_

 _ **Friday 0945 PST**_

Miguel drove through seemingly endless streets surrounded on both sides by tall, nondescript towers, Evan Walters supplying directions. He'd never been to the Kaliba headquarters before as only a select few were aware of its location. Miguel knew that he was their most effective operator. Because of that they'd deemed him too high a capture risk. Their enemies couldn't use his CPU to locate Skynet if he didn't know where it was.

"I'd expected something different," Miguel said as he stopped at a red light and waited. He was wary that he was relying on the human's directions but with a broken arm and two broken fingers, Evan was in no condition to drive.

"What were you expecting?" the Kaliba exec asked, laughing despite the pain he was in. "Giant fortress surrounded by high walls and electric fences? Cheyenne Mountain, maybe?"

"That is the eventual goal."

"It _is_ but it's in the Air Force's hands at the moment. We've made them an offer but they won't budge. They're in a lot of debt, though. Congress will have no choice but to cut the military budget and scrap or sell a lot of assets. Give it a few years, let them feel the sting of budget cuts, and they'll accept."

The light turned green and Miguel drove forward. "Why here?" he asked. "It doesn't seem like a good place to hide." It was simply a place of business.

Again, Walters laughed. "It's the _perfect_ place to hide: in plain sight. This place is called _Silicon Valley_ for a reason: every other building you see here is a software or tech company. If Connor or Catherine Weaver want to search for Skynet here it'll take them a while."

As the road they wanted came up, Miguel got into the right-most lane and signalled to turn, then inspected the target: it was twenty-three storeys tall and looked very similar to the surrounding buildings. He understood what Walters had meant about hiding in plain sight.

They took the next right onto a small road that ran around the building towards the employee parking lot and Walters winced as he cradled his lame wrist to his chest. Miguel had ignored his repeated pleas for medical attention until he'd given up asking. Despite the pain he pointed the machine to his personal reserved space, close to the front entrance.

As he turned the engine off and stepped out, Miguel noted that the entire row nearest the building was occupied, and they were all reserved for specific individuals. He judged from the cars' appearance that they belonged to very highly-paid staff: the executive board of the Kaliba Group.

"They're meeting," Miguel observed aloud.

"Discussing what to do about Connor, Weaver and this Ronin machine you encountered. They've dealt us a lot of trouble, as you know."

"Ronin will be more trouble if Skynet doesn't listen to me." He looked up at the building and saw numerous security cameras. Each corner of every floor had two cameras facing opposite directions to cover all potential entry points. There was no way to enter the building undetected.

"Skynet already knows we're here," the Grey told him, seeing him looking up and knowing what he was doing. "It probably knew before you got within ten blocks of it."

"Where in the building is it?"

"In a sub-basement, one hundred feet down. The only way in is an elevator and it's protected by T-900s. They'll take you apart before you get close to Skynet."

"I don't need to get close to Skynet. Where will the executives meet?"

"Top floor," Walters said. "Best view of the city." He'd spent countless hours in the boardroom from which they'd transformed the company into the global conglomerate that it was today; a far cry from the small business they'd started off with twenty years previously. The reminiscing did little to ease the pain he was currently in. TechCom – the Resistance's elite soldiers – were taught to cope with pain and control it, but working for Skynet he'd led a much more comfortable existence: he'd never gone hungry or thirsty, he'd received medical care when needed and had had a bed to sleep on. His amenities had been basic by modern standards but it had still made them soft while their enemies had grown hard and tough.

He led Miguel through the revolving glass doors and into the building's lobby. It looked much the same as every other building but concealed several major differences. The windows were all bulletproof and reinforced, and the revolving door allowed only a few people at a time through to allow an easier defence of the building. He also noted the small air vent above their section of the door.

There were two uniformed security guards on station at the front entrance. Both male: one white and overweight, balding and aged around forty; the other slender, tall and African-American, with a moustache, whom Miguel estimated to be approximately sixty-five to seventy. One corpulent and one very old; he noticed that they only had pistols on them. He silently questioned the wisdom of whoever hired them to act as Skynet's first line of defence.

He looked up as Evan led them towards the front desk. He noticed two things that stood out: the first was the number of security cameras suspended from the ceiling, obscured by tinted glass bubbles to prevent anyone from seeing where they were looking. There were more than double the number he'd seen in ZeiraCorp and triple the number at Endotech. If Skynet was in the sub-basement then it would be monitoring the footage from all of them, watching what everyone was doing from multiple angles.

The second thing he'd noticed was the large number of air vents above them. Evan saw him glance upward at them. "If anyone were to assault the building, Skynet would seal all doors and windows and open the vents. There's canisters of nerve gas on every storey, ready to be opened and distributed via the air vents if we came under attack. Anyone caught in the gas will be twitching on the floor in one minute; dead in five."

"What if machines attack?" Miguel asked, concerned. Ronin had Vassily's chip and all the information on it.

"Noticed the floor?" Evan asked him.

Miguel looked down at it. The lobby floor was made up of hundreds of marble tiles measuring twenty centimetres by twenty, with gold-coloured metal circles in each corner, the diameter of a bullet, that were very slightly raised up almost imperceptibly from their surroundings. The tiles were small enough that an adult human-sized foot would always be in constant contact with at least one of these tiny studs at all times. "Electrified?" he asked. He hadn't noticed that at first glance. That was the point, he realised.

"Got it in one," Evan replied. "One hint of hostile machines and those tiny studs extend an inch above the floor, then Skynet throws a switch: fifty-thousand volts. Force any machine into a reboot while the T-900s come up to the ground floor and deal with them."

It was an impressive security system, Miguel thought. More so because it was so discreet. It didn't draw attention to itself and intruders wouldn't know about it until it was too late.

They reached the front desk and the receptionist looked at Evan with a concerned expression on her face. "Mr Walters; are you okay?" She glanced at his arm.

"Accident at home," he said, forcing a smile. "Still, no rest for the wicked. Can you call up to the boardroom and tell the others I'm on my way?"

"Who's your friend?" she asked, turning her attention to Miguel.

Miguel fished out his Kaliba ID from his pocket and handed it to her. "I'm here to give a presentation to the board," he said.

She examined his ID closely. According to it, Miguel Vega was an employee of Endotech Industries; one of the sister companies to Autonomy Industries. His name wasn't on any of her schedules, however. The phone rang at her side. She quickly answered it. "Yes?" She listened to the voice on the other end and looked at Miguel warily. "Miguel Vega. I don't know him but Mr Walters is here too and he's vouched for him. Yes sir, I… Do you want me to– I understand." She put the phone down and handed Miguel's ID back to him.

"They're expecting you," she said, also giving him a visitor's badge. "Please go on up to the top floor." Miguel and Evan walked past the desk. There were three elevators at the rear of the lobby. Evan moved towards the middle one and reached out with his good arm for the button, but Miguel stopped him.

"We're not taking the elevator," he said. It would be the easiest place for Skynet to trap them. He had no doubt that there were already machines on their way to intercept them but his chances were better on the stairs than the confined space of an elevator car, where Skynet would have complete control.

"Oh, _come on!"_ Evan groaned to no avail; he knew damn well that the machines didn't feel sympathy. It didn't matter that he was in absolute agony with his broken arm and fingers. "This way," he sighed. He led the terminator through a set of double doors and into a corridor, going down it and crossing into an intersecting one, turning left before reaching a flight of stairs. "I'm going to lose my arm at this rate," he complained as they started up the staircase.

"You can get a new one," Miguel replied. Endotech prosthetics were twice as strong as typical human limbs and based on the same technology as T-888s.

"That's not the point," Evan grumbled as they made it to the first floor. _Twenty-two more to go._

Miguel was surprised that they reached the top floor without encountering any resistance. It was _not_ a surprise to him, however, when he saw that the entrance to the top floor was guarded by two T-888s in suits: Reed and Blake, the two terminators who had tried to remove his chip in San Diego. They were dressed smartly now to better reflect their surroundings: Reed in dark grey pants, a black shirt and matching tie; Blake with a sky-blue shirt, tieless, and pinstripe suit. To any of the human employees in the building they were just two more members of senior management. They stood between him and the doors to the executive floor but made no move towards him.

"I'm here to see the Greys."

"You're hostile," Reed replied, repeating exactly what he'd said before when they'd last met. "Will you submit for chip extraction?" The threat didn't need to be made; if he didn't then he'd be dealt with. Miguel was confident he could fight these two but not quickly.

The elevator next to them _pinged_ as the doors opened to reveal the two security guards from the entrance. They marched into the corridor side by side and approached Miguel and Walters, boxing them in between themselves, Reed and Blake. Both the newcomers had blank expressions on their faces and stared at him intently, unblinking as they stepped towards him.

Now Miguel understood exactly why those two guards were there; nobody would expect a fat or geriatric terminator.

"Let him in," Evan told them reluctantly. "He's got information vital to Skynet's survival. I'll vouch for him."

Reed took a step toward Miguel. "Your weapon," he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

Miguel did as he was asked and handed his pistol over. It was worthless against any machine and he had no intention of killing the Kaliba board. Together Miguel and Evan entered the executive area, flanked by the four other machines. They weren't taking any chances with him, Miguel realised.

They walked past one of the largest offices, which had ' _Evan Walters'_ engraved on a brass plaque on the door. Evan led him and the other cyborgs past it without stopping and down another corridor.

There were three doors in this section. Two of them were sealed with red and black tape and a small plastic seal on the handle. The third still had the tape but it and the seal were broken. He opened the door with his good hand and stepped into the room to see the other executives sitting around the large mahogany table that dominated the centre of the room. They stared at him and at Miguel as they entered. Reed, Blake and the other two followed them in and took flanking positions on either side of the pair.

"We're surprised to see you," Elena Rodriguez, the only female member of the group commented.

"What happened to your arm?" the obese one, Morton Osborne, asked.

"Miguel broke into my house and forced me to bring him here, but he's got information you'll want to see."

Said cyborg noted that the room was identical to the Endotech boardroom in San Diego, where he had last met met these humans the previous Sunday and had been assigned the task of eliminating ZeiraCorp's AI. Since then, much had changed for Kaliba and himself.

Miguel strode towards the table and placed the printed photographs onto its surface, laying them all out in the order he took them, chronicling everything he had witnessed since he'd begun his recon at the Chihuahua facility. The Greys all got up out of their seats and leaned over the pictures, examining them closely.

"These machines are ours," Mark Gilby said, pointing at a photo of Carter and two others. "This one was meant to guard the coltan shipment at the Maguire Gunnery Range and these two were supposed to retrieve it. This _'Ronin'_ is reprogramming them?"

"He replaced their CPUs with other chips," Miguel said. "There was at least one T-900 with him at ZeiraCorp and one of the fire teams reported a T-1001. He probably learned the location of the Chihuahua site from the machines he eliminated in the attack.

"Before they captured the Chihuahua site they numbered seven. The machines at the base added five more. Vassily's failed attack provided them with a further twelve, minus the losses Ronin's force suffered. His force currently numbers between eighteen and twenty-four. Every time you attack him he becomes more powerful." He held up the photo he'd taken of Ronin speaking to Vassily – or the machine that now inhabited Vassily's chassis.

"Vassily knows your location," he said to the group but also to Skynet, knowing the AI would be listening. "Now so does Ronin. He'll also know about the T-900s in the sub-basement."

"Then he'll know to stay away," Osborne replied. "From what you've told us most of his force is made up of our T-888s. The Nine-Hundreds will take care of them before they get close to Skynet."

 _"Or,"_ Walters suggested, "the Triple-Eights keep them occupied while Ronin and his liquid metal go for Skynet." He knew Miguel was right; it was just a matter of convincing the rest of them about that. "Vassily knew about the factory in Ukraine and the terminators they're building," he continued.

"Then Ronin knows it too, now. If he captures the facility he'll have a whole army of machines at his disposal," said Miguel.

Rodriguez shook her head and sighed. "It's worse than you know," she said. She pulled out more photos and slid them across the table for Miguel to see. "Have you seen these before?"

Miguel picked up the photos and inspected them. The image was of what looked to be the inside of a prison. He recognised Sarah Connor in the picture but there were also two others. Both were extremely large; Connor only reached up to their lower chests. He estimated their height to be well over two metres, and they were bulky; more armoured than even a T-900. One of them had half its face missing; underneath was a glowing blue eye and below that, a blue mark in the shape of a lightning bolt. Other than that the cyborg's real face was just featureless, smooth metal. "I haven't seen them before," he said.

"They broke Sarah Connor out of Pelican Bay several nights ago, practically destroying the prison in the process. They were last spotted heading south but we haven't seen them since. We think they're linked to Ronin."

"That's a _possibility,"_ Paul Reinhardt replied, disagreeing with his colleague. "We don't know that for sure."

 _Either they were allied to Connor or they weren't._ One extremely powerful enemy or two: either possibility was bad for them. "We should find out if Ronin is allied with Connor, ZeiraCorp and these new machines," Miguel said.

"And if they are?" Walters asked.

"If they're _not_ then we should consider contacting ZeiraCorp."

The room went silent as everyone, man and machine, stared at him incredulously. "Explain," Reed ordered him.

"We no longer have the resources to combat Ronin," Miguel said. "If we offer a temporary truce with ZeiraCorp we might have the combined power to stop him."

"That's crazy," Rodriguez shot back. "If you're actually suggesting we ally with Connor and ZeiraCorp, you really are defective!"

"I think he's got a point," Gilby said. "If they're not allied then it might be our only chance. We should–"

A gunshot interrupted him mid-sentence and the back of his head exploded, spraying gore onto the wall behind him. He fell backwards onto the floor and blood pooled under what was left of his skull. Reed holstered his smoking gun and glanced across the room at the remaining human operatives. The message to them was silent but clear: _disloyalty will not be tolerated._ He turned towards Miguel. "Hold him," he commanded the other machines.

The two security guards each grabbed one of Miguel's arms and Blake held him from behind in a full nelson. The old black guard kicked Miguel's legs out from underneath him, forcing him to his knees as Reed approached, pulling out a knife from his jacket pocket. The three machines then pinned Miguel face-first onto the ground. Blake knelt on his back to hold him in place as the fat one did the same with his legs and the elderly one held his wrists, preventing him from moving. Miguel struggled but was helpless as Reed crouched down and cut into his scalp.

There was no other course of action he could take now. They would extract and examine his chip to determine if he was defective, and would probably scrub it just to be certain. He would cease to exist but Skynet would see that he wasn't lying, that his assessment of Ronin was accurate. He hoped that Skynet would use what he'd learned to protect itself.

Those were his last thoughts as Reed pulled out Miguel's chip and the world turned to black silence.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Friday 2000 Local Time [1000 PST]**_

John watched as Cameron finished the final mouthful of her meal before taking a last sip of the wine that had accompanied their dinner. Once she was done she put her knife and fork down onto the plate side by side before placing the still-clean napkin down on the table.

"What did you think?" John asked her.

"I liked it," she said. "Did you?"

John nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely. I'm full but still kinda tempted to order some more dumplings; they were moreish." It had looked pretty basic on the menu; pork and beef-filled dumplings, and goulash, but it had been _good._ He'd been surprised at her answer, though. He knew from their prior talk back at Crater Lake that she had a sense of taste, but he'd expected her to say something else besides _'I liked it.'_ It didn't seem a very terminatorish answer.

"I don't understand," Cameron said.

"Moreish: it's kind of when you want more even when you're full, just because it's really good."

His answer was met with one of her blank stares, as if he'd just told her something really obvious. "I know what 'moreish' means. I just don't understand why." It seemed strange to her, why people would continue eating even when they were full. It explained the rampant morbid obesity back in the United States, she thought.

"Keep the experience going, you know?" John tried to explain further. "Have you ever done anything you didn't need to do, just because you liked it?"

"Ballet."

"When you went to see Dmitri Shipkov about the Turk." John remembered it. "Do you still dance?" He'd never seen her do it; he'd had no idea.

"I did. In the old house, before we moved."

"Why'd you stop?" John asked.

"It didn't seem important after. I had other priorities." She didn't mention that some of them had included trying to find a way to stop herself from killing him – or to kill herself; or secretly visiting the library at night. She'd never told John about her friend Eric, or about Myron Stark. She'd found the library much more interesting, anyway.

"You should find a hobby," John said to her.

"What's yours?" Cameron asked him, curious.

John hesitated. "I… uh… I guess I don't really have one either."

That gave her an idea. "We should find one together." It made sense to her. If he could find something to relieve his stress, something that made him happy, she would share in it. It didn't matter what it was, to her; if he enjoyed it then she would enjoy being with him.

"Any ideas?" he asked.

Cameron thought about it for a moment, considering a list of possible activities they could do together in California, then excluded those that involved needless risk to his safety, those that provided too much exposure to the general public, and those that she deemed pointless. John was _not_ going to get an Xbox.

"We could go hiking or mountain biking," she suggested. "Fresh air, exercise and it's away from the city."

"Away from people," John said, mirroring her thoughts. "I like it. We'll have to buy some bikes and some hiking gear."

"That won't be a problem: Weaver will authorise it. Mountain bikes won't be affected by EMP from nuclear fallout; it will be the fastest mode of transport for months so you'll need practice."

"You've thought this all out, haven't you?" John asked her rhetorically. Leave it to her to put a logical spin on something they were just going to do for fun.

"I think fast."

John looked down at the empty plates on the table, then up at Cameron. "Shall we go or do you want dessert?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "I don't want dessert."

With that decided, the pair got up and left the table. They'd already told the waiters to charge the meal to their room so they didn't have to hang around for a bill. Cameron left a tip on the table before they departed. Once outside the restaurant John took Cameron's hand in his and they walked through the hotel towards the elevators at the back of the lobby.

When one of the elevators came down they got inside and pushed the button for the seventh floor. The doors closed, leaving them alone inside, and the car started to slowly ascend. Cameron saw John's face from the corner of her eye; he stared blankly at the steel doors and she noticed his grip on her hand had loosened slightly.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, letting go of his hand and turning until she was facing him.

John inched towards her and reached out, placing his palm flat on her chest. At first she thought he was going to touch her breasts but he just kept his hand in place and a moment later she realised what he was doing. The spot he was touching was exactly where he'd cut into her nine days before, directly over her power cell.

"You're beautiful," he said to her, pressing his hand gently against her, feeling the heat emanate from her skin, even through her shirt.

Cameron said nothing but simply smiled in realisation. He'd been referring to all of her, not just her human exterior. He knew now, deep down, what she was; no longer under any illusion about her, and he still felt the same. He was human, she wasn't; and he didn't care. She pulled John even closer to her, pressing their bodies together, and she kissed him. Their lips remained locked together and she pushed him against the wall, leaning into him. She could feel him harden against her and she knew what he wanted.

When the elevator doors opened she led him by the hand towards their suite, opened the door with their key-card and quickly entered, closing it behind them.

Aegir sat on one of the sofas, staring at the TV. "Cameron," he said, turning his head and nodding at his once and future commanding officer. "Connor," he added after a few seconds, turning his attention back to the TV. John looked at the screen and saw that he was watching a nature documentary. He had no idea what was being said since he didn't understand a word of the language but there was a troop of monkeys on the screen. That seemed so out of place for Aegir, who'd never seemed to take much interest in anything around them that didn't involve fighting.

"Goodnight, Aegir," Cameron said, leading John towards their bedroom. She closed the door behind them, leaving the Vanguard in the lounge, separating the pair of them from the outside world. And then she turned the small lock to seal them inside.

The _click_ of the lock turning suddenly seemed very, very loud to John, and he knew what it meant. He couldn't help but stiffen when she'd pushed herself against him, and he knew enough about how she worked to know that there was no way she hadn't noticed it. They came together again and kissed before Cameron sat down on the bed and looked at him. He knew what she wanted him to do, and he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. She took his hand and John felt his heart beat faster in his chest as he dry-swallowed nervously. He saw her staring at him, their eyes locked together as she waited for him to say or do something.

It suddenly dawned on him exactly where they were. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks seemed to have led up to this moment. Finally, they were alone, comfortable with each other, and there was nothing lurking around outside, wanting to kill them. And, he admitted to himself, he was nervous. He had no idea what he was doing. _If we do it, will she feel anything? Can she even feel anything like that?_ He remembered her telling him she had sensation and could feel. Did that mean she could enjoy it? _What if I'm no good?_ He'd heard countless girls in high school corridors commenting on boyfriends or hook-ups they'd had; their size and performance. He knew Cameron wouldn't judge him but still… He felt an enormous pressure building up over him, and he wondered if this was what everyone felt when the time came.

He looked around the room, breaking their mutual gaze. He noticed the French windows leading out to the balcony outside their room, and the hot tub dominating the centre of it.

"Why don't we try out the hot tub?" he suggested to her.

"It's late."

"I've never tried one before," he said.

"Okay," she replied. They got up and opened the French windows, stepping outside onto the balcony. A gust of cool air hit John and he shivered slightly. It was chilly for him but he figured it'd be fine once he was in the water, and it'd buy some time. He knew what was probably going to happen once they went to bed, but he was anxious and wanted to calm himself down first. There was a minibar in the lounge and he was tempted for a moment to get a drink, but then decided against it.

Cameron pulled her top off and placed it on the ground, far enough from the tub that it wouldn't get wet. She then reached behind her back, unclipped her bra and tossed that onto her shirt, revealing her breasts to John. He noticed the way her nipples hardened in the cool air, and couldn't stop staring. He gulped again as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down.

"What're you doing?" he asked her. Watching her strip off wasn't helping him one bit.

"We don't have any suits," she said. She'd seen him gulp and took his hand again, sensing his heightened pulse and increased skin temperature, despite the cold air. She knew without scanning him that he was aroused – she'd known that he was attracted to her for some time – as she'd admitted in the van, but she realised he was also nervous. "We've seen each other naked before," she reassured him as she removed her panties and socks. Completely bare in front of him, Cameron climbed up into the tub and lowered herself down, submersing herself in the water.

John knew she was right and started to quickly remove his own clothes, chiding himself for being such a nervous wreck. _You've seen her naked half a dozen times before: why are you so worried about it now?_ Once he was nude too he got into the tub and felt the jets blasting against his back. "That's nice," he said with a sigh.

Cameron broke the surface, having submerged herself to fully experience the sensations. She too liked the feel of the air jets against her skin. It was different to anything she'd ever felt before. She moved over until she was next to John, pressed against his side. Again she felt John's pulse increase and she knew why. She knew what he wanted even if he was nervous, and decided it would be best to wait for him to act first.

"I think we should get one of these for the safe house when we get home," John said.

"We should probably buy bathing suits if we do," Cameron added. "I don't think your mother would be happy seeing us naked together."

"Or Ellison," John said. "He'd probably have a heart attack." He closed his eyes and leaned back into the tub until everything but his face was submerged. The contrast between the cold air and hot water made him feel a little light-headed and the jets massaging his back relaxed him even more so. "I could fall asleep like this."

"You'd drown," Cameron warned him.

"You wouldn't let me. I trust you."

Cameron considered that. From what she'd seen recently he was telling the truth; he did seem to trust her, both with his life and also trusting her opinion. His behaviour towards her had changed dramatically in recent weeks. He'd deferred to her judgement about Los Angeles County Jail and he'd stood up to Catherine Weaver, when she knew he'd been terrified of the liquid metal terminator because of what she was. He'd come back for her when she'd fought the T-1001 in Crater Lake when he should have run. His actions and changed attitude towards her led to one conclusion: he'd finally accepted his feelings towards her.

"Why do you love me?" she questioned.

"I don't know," John said, shrugging. "I just do."

Cameron frowned. "I need to know why," she said with some insistence in her voice.

John wasn't sure what to say; for anyone else it would have been enough to know that he did love her, but clearly not her. He knew there were a hundred things he could have said, about how she protected him and risked her life for him day in and day out, but that wasn't why.

"Little things," he said.

"What little things?" she asked.

"Like how you always listen when I'm angry and want to vent, no matter what I'm saying. The way that every morning you'd put out my favourite cereal on the kitchen table so I didn't have to endure Mom's pancakes again, and how you got food out of the vending machine at ZeiraCorp when we slept the night in the basement so I'd have something to eat."

"How does that equate to love?" she asked him, still confused.

He shrugged. "You know what they say: the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Cameron disagreed. The easiest way to a man's heart was through the ribcage, to the left of the solar plexus, but she was learning that not everything humans said was to be taken literally.

"Little things," John reiterated. "You protect me because it's your mission – you _made_ it your mission," he quickly corrected himself. "But you never had to do any of the other stuff for me."

His answer didn't satisfy her. "That doesn't seem very important." She didn't understand how that equated to love. It seemed to be the most confusing, conflicting emotion, so that even humans could not fully describe it or the reasons behind it. "You shouldn't love me," she said to him. "I tried to kill you. I hurt you. I stopped you from having a normal life." She said it as a matter of fact, without any of the self-pity that John would have expected from anyone else, as if she was telling him the grass was green or the sky was blue.

"I've never had a normal life," he said to her, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Remember where Mom and I lived before Red Valley?"

"West Fork, Nebraska," Cameron answered.

John nodded. "Before that it was a hippy town called Garberville; and before _that,_ some redneck town in Georgia I can't even remember the name of. We were in West Fork for eight months and that was the longest we'd stayed anywhere since breaking Mom out of Pescadero. Since we killed the T-1000 I spent two and a half years as an outcast: I never had any friends because I couldn't let anyone in or get close to them in case they found out who I really was; I was always looking over my shoulder. I couldn't even use my real name. That's no kind of life."

"You can't use your real name now," Cameron said.

"The _name_ doesn't matter," John replied. "I wasn't _me._ It was like we'd saved the world by destroying Cyberdyne, but there was no place in it for me. You changed that just by _being._ After you came I had a purpose, a reason to bother getting out of bed in the morning. And with you I can be John Connor again. No pretending like with everyone else.

"Without you I'd be nothing," he said. He decided not to let her dwell on that too much, knowing how inquisitive she could be. He decided to turn the tables on her. "Why do _you_ love _me?"_ he asked.

"The same reason," she told him honestly. "I don't have to pretend to be human around you. You know what I am. Everything I do, everything I think, revolves around you. Without you I have no reason to exist. And I like spending time with you; you teach me, you let me teach you. Because of you I'm more than I was."

Cameron stood up straight, getting out of the water, turned around and sat back down on John's lap, facing him. She kissed him hard on the lips and pressed her chest against him, grinding her crotch against his. She was done telling him she loved him: now she would _show_ him.

John couldn't help but react, kissing her in reply and roaming his hands over her, just as he'd done at Crater Lake, wondering why he'd held back before. It felt right, but there was still one nagging doubt. "I… I've never done this before," he confessed.

Cameron shook her head. "I haven't either," she said.

That caught John by surprise. "But how you talk about Future-Me, I'd have thought we…"

"No," Cameron said decisively.

John weighed the consequences of that short reply. All this time he'd thought he was inheriting Cameron from his future self; that he was a poor second in every department, but now he realised she was his alone, and he hers.

Cameron exhaled as John's hand disappeared beneath the water, between her legs, and she kissed him again, grabbing him to return the favour. She closed her eyes and enjoyed sensations completely new to her as he explored with his hands and she moved against him.

Several minutes went by, both of them caught up in each other, when John lifted her up slightly and she felt him about to enter her. Cameron backed away, breaking the kiss, and got to her feet.

"What's wrong?" John looked up at her, confused and a little frustrated as memories of how they'd been interrupted before flashed in his mind. There was no threat around but she'd just stopped as they'd worked themselves up. _I thought you weren't built to be cruel,_ he half-joked to himself.

"Not here," she said. "The bed will be more comfortable."

"Fair enough." John jumped out of the hot tub and Cameron handed him a towel. He dried himself quickly and noticed that Cameron too seemed to have a sense of urgency as she did the same. He watched her as she dried herself, admiring every curve of her body. She ran the towel through her hair until it was damp but no longer dripping.

John led her this time, back into the bedroom and closing the French windows behind them. They crossed the room to the bed, where both of them sat down and resumed kissing. Cameron lay back and pulled him on top of her. He kissed down her neck to her breasts, belly and beyond. She let him stay down there for several minutes, enjoying his ministrations, before pulling him back up and reaching between them to guide him towards her. She sighed as John finally took the initiative and pushed into her, joined her pleasured groan with his own. He'd never felt anything like it before and for a moment he was overwhelmed. In the back of his mind he wondered if she felt it like he did; when she let out a moan he was reassured.

Cameron reached behind him and pulled him into her again as she pushed back. They moved against each other, slowly at first but with a growing urgency, quickly finding a rhythm together. She sighed in pleasure and contentment. Everything was right, it was perfect. She was his, and he was hers. For now, nothing else mattered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _ **Santa Monica, California**_

 _ **Friday 1300 PST**_

Santa Monica Pier was much quieter than it would have been three months before. The Ferris wheel and the rollercoaster were still running but the time of year, combined with it being a weekday, meant that there were relatively few people around. _Relative_ being the operative word; there were still enough people around that James Ellison didn't look too out of place.

He watched Savannah on one of the rides. When he'd told her that they were going to the beach, she hadn't expected a three-hour drive; nonetheless she was still happy to be there, enjoying herself, oblivious to why they were really in Santa Monica. He'd chosen it because it was far from Serrano Point and Pismo Beach, far enough for Auldridge to not be able to guess where he was coming from.

"I'd have preferred somewhere indoors," Auldridge said as he approached and sat down next to Ellison on the bench. He was holding a brown envelope. "I love this place in summer but not November."

"You said you wanted to talk," Ellison said.

"Not one for small talk: noted." Auldridge respected that, even though he enjoyed a patter with people to get the feel of them. Not Ellison, apparently. The man looked like he was all business. "Since ZeiraCorp was bombed out of existence on Wednesday, everyone in the government's gone crazy."

"Yeah," Ellison said. "I saw Senator Tate's rant on the news last night."

Auldridge shook his head. "It's not her that bothers me. It's that nobody knew this was coming. You remember what it was like after Nine-Eleven: we blamed the CIA, they blamed us. Everyone had pieces of information but the inter-agency rivalry meant that no one shared any information with each other and the hijackers slipped through the net."

"I remember," Ellison replied. Neither he nor anyone else in federal law enforcement needed reminding of that day.

"Well, that's the thing: with Nine-Eleven, the pieces were there but no one put together the puzzle in time. This is different: there was no chatter at all. No one saw it coming because it was out of the blue."

"Are you sure about that?" Ellison asked.

"Completely. Half the Bureau's agents have been pulled off other assignments to investigate Islamic terror cells in this country. The other half are doing the same with left wing, anti-capitalist groups, given the nature of the business that was attacked."

"And you?" Ellison asked. It was rhetorical.

"I think they're looking in the wrong direction," Auldridge said.

"Sarah Connor."

Auldridge nodded. "It's an amazing coincidence that one of this country's leading tech companies is bombed just days after she was broken out of prison, don't you think? It's not the first building she's blown up." He opened the envelope and took out a series of photographs. Some of them, Ellison had seen before. Cyberdyne. They showed the massive damage that her explosives had caused that building. The others were new but he recognised them from the adjacent buildings. It was what was left of ZeiraCorp. Now just a pile of rubble.

"She attacked Cyberdyne at night and nobody died except Miles Dyson. This was broad daylight and a suicide bombing that took many, many lives; not exactly her style."

"Crazy is her style," Auldridge said. "I'd like your help in finding her."

"It's a suicide bombing," Ellison reiterated. "You think it was her, look in the truck."

"There isn't enough left to fill an ashtray. A very small ashtray."

Ellison looked askance at the agent, unimpressed by his attempt at humour. If it was humour; Auldridge was very peculiar. "I'll ignore your poor choice of words while I grieve my dead colleagues."

Auldridge looked suitably chastened. "Of course, I'm sorry for your loss, James. But Sarah Connor has her son and other allies. They broke her out of Pelican Bay with some pretty heavy artillery–"

"The Connor case is a dead end," Ellison interrupted him. "It killed my career and it'll do the same to yours. My advice: drop it."

"All my colleagues tell me the same thing," he replied. "But there's something there. This isn't just some anti-American or anti-capitalist attack. You work for ZeiraCorp; you know what they do. Who else but Sarah Connor would have motive to go after them?"

What Ellison found frustrating was that he knew the answer to that but couldn't divulge it. For a moment he wondered what would happen if he told Auldridge the truth. He knew he couldn't. Even if the man believed him, Weaver would skin him alive. He decided to give him the truth, just not all of it.

"Off the record: Ms Weaver thinks it's a competitor. There's plenty of them out there and some can be pretty cutthroat. There were some top secret projects going on at ZeiraCorp; stuff way above my paygrade."

Auldridge frowned at that, sceptical. "Do you really think one tech company would blow up another one?"

Ellison nodded. "We just don't know who." He stood up and gestured towards the bumper cars. "That's Catherine Weaver's daughter. Given everything that's happened she's asked if I can look after her. She trusts me, and we need to go. I need to get her back to her mother."

"Bureau agent to security chief to babysitter in just a few months; interesting career path, James," Auldridge remarked.

Ellison just shrugged. "I'm where I wanna be right now." With that he left the agent sitting on the bench. He collected Savannah from the ride and they left the pier, heading towards the parking lot. He knew he hadn't dissuaded Auldridge from his investigation. The agent would keep hunting for Sarah and John. What Ellison had done, though, was learn something about Auldridge: he was working alone; with no help, no resources, and probably no one taking him seriously. He remembered what that was like and felt a moment's kinship with him. He also thought it was probably just what Sarah had felt for so many years. He found it funny how much he, Sarah and Agent Auldridge suddenly seemed to have in common.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 0830 Local Time [Friday 2230 PST]**_

Cameron lay on her side, watching John as he slumbered. His vital signs were significantly slower than usual. She knew his average pulse and breaths per minute both awake and asleep; currently fifteen beats and four breaths per minute slower. His face lacked its usual tension. She'd never seen him looking so peaceful.

He hadn't shaved for over a week, not since she'd cut his hair in the ZeiraCorp washroom the previous Friday. Now his jawline and upper lip were covered in dark stubble. She decided that she would suggest that he keep it, but trim his hair again to distance "John Cook" from the images of a youthful-looking fifteen year-old John Connor that the authorities had been circulating in the media. The look wasn't to her taste, but circumstances dictated their response.

Cameron had remained with John all night as he slept. She'd heard Aegir watching TV in the lounge, and later Sarah returning to the suite with Thor, who'd joined his subordinate in watching late-night television. She'd considered getting up to speak to them but hadn't wanted to leave John's side; she'd seen him in the throes of a nightmare before and didn't want him to suffer through one again.

It was impossible for Cameron not to sense his changing vital signs, so she knew exactly when he would awaken. John yawned and turned his head to face her as he did, rubbing his eyes before opening them.

"Hey," he said.

"Good morning," Cameron replied. "How did you sleep?"

"Good. _Really_ good. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Cameron nodded and slid closer to him as he put an arm under her. "Did you enjoy last night?"

John chuckled. "I don't think _'enjoy'_ quite covers it. Did you?"

"I didn't expect to, but yes: I liked it. I'd like to do it again."

John eased onto his side to face her, sliding his hands to her hips to pull her even closer to him, a sly grin on his face. "Don't need to tell me twice," he said a moment before he kissed her. She responded in kind and opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, feeling him quickly harden against her as her own body automatically responded in anticipation. For several minutes they were lost in each other, connected at the lips, until John rolled on top of her.

The bedroom door flew open and John froze for a second as Thor entered, filling the door frame with his bulk. "Can't you knock?" he groaned, frustrated as he moved off Cameron, sitting back on the bed and pulling the sheets up to cover himself. He noticed Cameron made no move to conceal herself; nudity not having the same, if any, significance for her.

"Get dressed," Thor said, unconcerned about having interrupted them. "We're leaving in ten minutes to recon the air show."

John wasn't the only one annoyed with Thor's entrance. The Vanguard leader didn't fail to notice the glare that Cameron gave him. He also saw the tilt of her head towards the lounge; silently telling him to go back, and suddenly realised what he'd interrupted: they were both naked in bed, and John had been prone atop her when he'd entered the room.

" _Thirty_ minutes," Thor corrected himself before turning around and exiting the room, closing the door behind him to leave John and Cameron alone once more.

"It's a good thing you locked the door," John said sarcastically.

"Cromartie tore through a bank vault; a locked door won't stop Thor."

"Yeah I noticed," John said, still pissed. He sensed Cameron didn't want a fight, so dialled back his grouching. "The look you gave him, I doubt he'll do that again. But I was thinking more about Mom; there's things she shouldn't see." He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Cameron wasted no time. She got up, grabbed a chair and rammed it under the door handle, then went back to the bed. She pushed John onto his back and climbed onto his lap before she resumed kissing him. They had twenty-nine minutes remaining and she didn't intend to squander a single second.

* * *

 _ **Gostomel Airport, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1030 Local Time [0030 PST]**_

Aircraft soared through the sky; diving, ducking, twisting, leaving contrails in their wakes as they criss-crossed through the sky. A Kazakh SU-27 Flanker buzzed barely a hundred feet above the ground, chased by a Dutch F-16 Fighting Falcon perhaps three seconds behind it. The Flanker shot upwards and its pursuer followed, up to four thousand feet before the former turned upside down and dove towards the ground. The F-16 followed suit and copied the move, keeping its target in its sights. All around them more planes shot across the air; Ukrainian MiGs dodged Saudi Tornados while Russian jets flew circles around Indian Mirage fighters.

"Looks cool," John commented, looking up at the dozen or so planes engaged in mock combat for the sake of spectators on the ground. Five or six thousand people were spread across the airfield, a lot of them glancing up at the dogfighting. He knew nothing about planes but it looked pretty impressive to him.

"In a few years they'll be fighting for their lives against Skynet's drones," Sarah commented next to him. "They'll all be killed."

"Way to stay positive, Mom," John said as they strolled across the grounds.

"When have you ever known me to be an optimist?" she asked him.

John just shrugged. "Good point. We're alive, though; something to be glad about." They passed by a row of planes on the ground, each one cordoned off in squares of rope, with a stand and plaque detailing the aircraft's specifications and service history.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" she asked.

"I don't know; I just am," he said.

Sarah heard a slight defensive tone in his voice. An evil grin spread across her face as she turned to look at her son. "Maybe I'll just ask _Cameron."_

John turned a deep red with embarrassment before he turned his face away from her. _"Mom!"_ he moaned.

She took a moment to enjoy his discomfort. "Oh, relax, John, I'm just giving you a hard time: I told you to make your own choice, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. So, did Thor tell you?"

"Confirmation: that explains why you were so hungry this morning." He'd emerged from his bedroom yawning heavily, alongside Cameron, who wouldn't let them leave until he'd eaten. John had ordered two breakfasts from room service; one was for Cameron, though she'd given him most of it. "No, Thor didn't tell me; I was just giving you a hard time."

"You're enjoying making me uncomfortable, aren't you?" All John wanted at that moment was for the ground to open up and swallow him, or better yet, a terminator to show up and stop the nightmare.

"It's a mom thing, John."

John just shook his head and sighed. "You're an evil, evil woman." He doubted Cameron was getting this kind of crap from the Vanguards. The thought of the giants brought one of them in particular to mind. "Why's Thor in charge now?"

Sarah glanced at her son. "What makes you think he is?"

"The way he just barged into our room and got us up like a drill sergeant at reveille; how you didn't seem to have a problem with it when he started giving us orders."

Sarah raised a curious eyebrow. "I didn't think you'd mind taking orders from a machine," she said. "Since you're dating one now."

"I'm not, but _you_ weren't bothered either, and _that_ bothers me. No offence Mom but you're kind of a control freak."

"None taken," Sarah said sarcastically as they strolled along a row of various transport planes. None of those took her interest; they didn't seem likely to be linked to Kaliba. "How come she let you out of her sight, then?" Sarah thought it strange that Cameron had left John with her and had gone with Thor and Freyr instead.

"I wanted to spend some time with you, and Cameron agreed with me. So what is it?" John asked her. "Are you sure you're not sick? Because I can't think of any other reason why you'd let anyone else – especially a _cyborg_ – be in charge."

Sarah groaned inwardly. _Why does he have to be so observant?_ She knew precisely why, of course; she'd raised him to be and his experiences had taught him to pay extra attention. Cameron had fooled him for two days when they'd first met; she reckoned that since then he'd been watching people closely, although Riley had been a clear slip in his judgement. Maybe she could also distract him?

"What's with the beard? Trying to look older?"

"That and just different. Cameron's idea," John said.

"Cameron again, eh?" Sarah teased.

"Mom, stop trying to avoid my question!" John snapped, then sighed. "Yes, she makes suggestions; you know they usually make sense." He touched her arm. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm fine," she said to him as they left the cargo planes behind and turned left, walking towards a row of unmanned aircraft on display. Closest to them were the smallest, positioned on pedestals to allow people to see them more easily. The ones nearest were little more than remote control model toy airplanes with cameras attached, but they got bigger as they moved along; some of them sprouting missiles or bombs underneath the wings.

"So what's up?" John asked again, more insistent this time.

"I'm tired," Sarah said. It was the truth, just not all of it. "I could do with some downtime."

"You call _this_ downtime?" John asked as they moved through throngs of people all standing still, talking in a language he didn't understand, and taking photos by the hundreds. Both he and Sarah were careful to make sure they didn't inadvertently get caught in any pictures.

"For me, yeah," Sarah said. "It's not easy being in charge all the time; it takes it out of you. Thor's going to run things for a while so I can take a breather. There's another reason, too, John: this war's changed from when Kyle came back and saved me. It's changed since Cameron came back, too. AIs fighting AIs and cyborgs fighting cyborgs who were built to kill other machines; some of whom will be allied with you. That's so far beyond me I don't know where to start preparing you for that. It's out of my league. It's out of Cameron's, too. Thor's from that future, though, and he's a leader. He can teach you more about that war than I ever could."

That instantly set alarm bells ringing in John's head. For her to come out and say she was obsolete, that a cyborg could be better than her: something was wrong.

"Look at this," Sarah said, distracting John from his train of thought. She quickened her pace and John saw what she was looking at. They both moved rapidly towards it; what they'd seen on TV, the thing that had brought them to the air show in the first place. They pushed through the camera-wielding tourists and went right up to the rope perimeter. Sarah guessed it was around thirty feet long, with circular engines on either side of the fuselage at the base of short, swept-back wings. At the rear of the drone were large tailplanes that were bigger than the actual wings sticking out from the engine nacelles.

"This one's armed," John commented, pointing at the drone. He could see a missile underneath each wing and two more on the left and right-hand side of the fuselage. "It's bigger than the one we saw on that farm," he added. "Newer model, maybe?"

"If it is then they work fast," Sarah said. The one that she'd seen outside Desert Canyon Heat and Air, and again as it jumped out of the pond in the cattle ranch, had been a lot smaller; maybe half the length. It had also looked a lot stranger, more otherworldly. It was possible they'd refined the design but if they had, in such a short time, then that was seriously bad news.

John pulled his cell phone out and pressed _2_ on the speed dial. As soon as it was answered he heard two tones. He then punched two keys on the phone in reply. "Cameron, we've found it. We're near Hangar Ten."

* * *

Cameron walked through the airfield along a taxiing lane, past rows and rows of fighter aircraft on display, surrounded by rope partitions where tourists took photos. Each one had a stand with a plaque on it, with information about the aircraft printed in Ukrainian, Russian and badly-translated English. She stopped at a large plane with Russian red stars on the twin rudders at the back. It was large and heavily armed, with eight air to air missiles attached to the wings and a further four underneath the fuselage.

Cameron read the information on offer, starting with the plane's name: _SU-37 Terminator._ She smiled at that. "They named a plane after us," she said.

"Not much of a plane," Freyr commented behind her. Beyond that one was an even larger Russian fighter with wings swept forwards instead of back like the rest. The description on that one claimed it was the most advanced Russian fighter to date. He was less than impressed. "They're primitive."

"They're what the humans have," Thor said. "They'll be all that stand against HKs."

"And they'll lose."

That piqued Cameron's curiosity. "How do you know?" she asked. She knew it would happen eventually, of course. The Resistance had possessed no aircraft in her future; they'd learned quickly that Skynet had total air supremacy. But she had very little information on the early days of the war; just what Future John and the handful of fighters who had ever spoken to her had said.

"I had a human friend in TechCom," Freyr said.

"You had friends?" Cameron was surprised.

"We said before: cyborgs and humans were more integrated in our future." Thor said.

Freyr continued, ignoring the interruption. "He was an F-22 pilot when the war started. He flew seven sorties after Judgment Day, during which he only shot down a single drone. Most of his squadron were killed before they could do even that. His last engagement involved two squadrons totalling almost thirty Raptors sent to intercept Skynet bombers carrying thermobaric weapons, targeting secondary cities. The Raptors outnumbered the drone fighters three to one but were completely destroyed. Two pilots ejected but the rest were killed. Skynet had total air supremacy from 2012 until 2021, when John Henry's first unmanned fighters became operational."

"These planes are too primitive," Thor repeated. "But the real limitation is the pilot," he said. Skynet's drones could manoeuvre in ways that the human body couldn't withstand. They could react much faster than even the best pilots.

"Don't tell Sarah that," Cameron replied. "She doesn't like being told people are inferior."

"She knows," Thor said. He looked to the planes, brimming with missiles, and for a moment he empathised with the pilots who would fly and fight and die against Skynet. They would be outmatched completely; their only chance to survive would be to retreat and scatter.

Cameron's phone rang suddenly. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered, dialling two keys as per their protocol. She said nothing until she heard two tones in reply, then John's voice on the other end. "We're on our way," she replied, hanging up. "Hangar Ten," she told Thor and Freyr. "They've found it."

The trio jogged through the crowds to get to Hangar Ten on the far side of the airfield, ignoring the stares and cursing of people as they pushed through. They caused a furore when they ran across one of the runways where a jet fighter was taxiing for take-off.

It only took seconds for them to locate John and Sarah, staring at the aircraft in question. Thor ploughed through several people, much to their vocalised annoyance. They pushed their way to the front to join the Connors. Cameron positioned herself next to John and slid her hand into his, feeling him squeeze nervously back. "Is that the real deal?" he asked Cameron.

"It looks similar," she said. "But not the one we saw in the desert. It could be another model."

"That's what I said," Sarah replied, still staring at it.

"Who's that?" Freyr asked, gesturing at a suited man standing next to the drone, who was talking to the crowd about the aircraft. He had a name badge identifying him as one _Ivan Pedrov._ There was a company logo on the badge but he didn't know it.

"I don't recognise him," Cameron said.

"Could he be working for Kaliba?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know."

"He might not even know it if he is," John said. "I'd bet money that most people who work for Kaliba have no idea what they're really up to."

"Catherine Weaver might know," Freyr said.

John took his phone out of his pocket, activated the camera and pointed it at Pedrov as he spoke to the crowd. With so many people taking pictures nobody noticed that the image he captured was of the exec and not the plane. He photographed the man and then zoomed in on his badge before taking another picture and turning his focus to the drone itself. He sent the photos to John Henry before turning to Cameron. "What's he saying?" he asked.

"He's talking about the development of the drone. He says they took the tilt-engine concept of the American Osprey but replaced the rotors with jets. He claims the engines are a revolutionary new design that allow for near-silent flight. They have designs for troop carriers as well as attack aircraft."

"Ask him if it's fully autonomous or if it needs a remote pilot, and if they plan to control it with an AI."

Cameron stepped forward and translated John's question, interrupting the man mid-speech. He answered her and then she again translated back into English. "It's remote controlled."

Thor stepped over the rope and went right up to the UCAV, ignoring Pedrov's protest. He examined it closely before opening a hatch and inspecting the inside. "Please don't touch it," Pedrov snapped at him. "You're not allowed to be this close; step back with the others."

Thor disregarded him as he tried to pull him away from the machine. The man was fortunate that it was him who was examining the drone and not Aegir, who was back at the hotel; the other Vanguard would have floored him.

"This isn't as advanced as you indicated," Thor said to the man. Inside it was a mess of wires. No solid state circuitry, no advanced CPU.

"Nonsense. Its technology is equal to American and European unmanned aircraft."

"Which is still inferior."

"Let me guess: American, British?" Pedrov relaxed slightly, thinking to himself that this was just another boorish tourist who'd played too many computer games and thought they knew everything.

"Can you make it fly?" Thor asked, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

"Not today," Pedrov replied, looking nervous again. "Demonstration is scheduled for tomorrow." He gestured back towards the spectators on the other side of the rope. "Now please, or I must call security."

Thor complied and went back to the others.

"Well?" Sarah asked.

"It's not Kaliba's," Thor said.

"How'd you know?"

"Too primitive."

"It could just be an early model," John suggested.

"The CPU is too primitive," Thor repeated. "It's no more advanced than the planes we saw. Less than some. There are cars with computers more advanced than this."

"How'd you know that?" John asked.

 _"Top Gear._ We don't sleep," Freyr replied. John couldn't help but smile a little at Freyr's Cameron-ism. They were definitely descended from her.

Thor held his hand up to John's face. "Smell this."

John hesitated but did as Thor said, and sniffed his hand. "Gas," he said. "What about it?"

"Skynet wouldn't use aviation fuel for its aircraft. Even now."

"That's a big leap," Sarah replied. "They might just not be as advanced yet as we thought."

John shook his head. "Thor's right, Mom. After J-Day it'll be near-impossible to get access to oil, even for Skynet."

Cameron agreed with him. "HKs in the future were powered by hydrogen." Water was everywhere, providing an inexhaustible supply for Skynet's war machines. Also, the drone they'd seen before hadn't smelled of avgas like this one did.

"Couldn't it be a bluff?" Sarah asked. "Make it seem less advanced than it really is; maybe hiding the real design?"

"Why go to that length when they could just do it in secret?" John asked rhetorically. "Why bother putting it on public display and run the risk of someone tracing it back to Skynet? It's a bust, Mom."

Sarah gritted her teeth in frustration and stared at the _Not-HK_. "You mean we came out here for nothing?"

"It appears so," Freyr said.

"We'll return to the hotel and make a new plan," Thor said. He turned away from the faux HK and marched off. Freyr went after him, followed by John, Cameron and finally Sarah. The elder Connor just shook her head. She couldn't believe this whole trip had been a complete farce; first the pig farm and now this. Every time they thought they had a breakthrough they just went around in circles and ended up back at square one, and she was getting pissed at it all.

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1350 Local Time [0350 PST]**_

 _Dead._

That was the only word Ronin could use to describe their present location in the town of Pripyat, deep inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. They were less than three kilometres from the nuclear plant that was the centre of the zone, and there was no human or animal life that he could see. Plants and trees were still growing, wild and out of control in some places. Grass verges on the kerbs that would normally have been kept short and tidy were tall enough to reach past his knees as he walked through one such patch and stared down the road.

Everything was desolate, abandoned and left to slowly crumble and decay. Cars sat idle on the roadsides, patches of red rust showing through where the elements had eroded the paint finishes. The same was happening to the buildings around them. Constant exposure to rain and wind, freezing cold winters with ice and snow, and blazing-hot summers over three decades, coupled with zero maintenance had peeled the outer layers on homes and offices to reveal bare concrete that was starting to crumble.

Ronin had seen towns and cities in North America that were very similar to Pripyat: abandoned after Judgment Day either to avoid the fallout or the fighting, undamaged except for the slow decay of weather and time. The ground both here and in his time was littered with an assortment of items including clothing, food wrappers, toys and other detritus; left behind by people hastily evacuated to escape the radiation.

Said radiation in their current location was considerably higher than the rest of the town. Further out he had seen a tour group allowed into the town, under supervision. But those tourists would never be allowed as far in as Ronin and his cohort had gone. The only humans who were as deep into the exclusion zone as them were government officials who appeared to be part of a clean-up operation. It was they whom Ronin and his cohort were waiting for.

The bulk of their cyborgs were spread out on the top floors and roofs of the buildings around them, keeping lookout. Ronin, Caesar and Shirley remained on the ground. They'd spotted several trucks moving through the town, into and out of the exclusion zone, but they were always in convoy; three trucks or more. They didn't know how many men were inside but they couldn't guarantee killing all of them before anyone broadcast a distress call.

It had taken almost twenty-four hours to reach Pripyat on foot, skirting around a large lake and also crossing briefly into neighbouring Belarus. As they'd neared the Exclusion Zone Ronin had seen how heavily guarded it was. They'd had to jump over fences far from any roads to avoid being seen. Kaliba had a factory here and it could only be supplied by road, meaning that transport would have to pass through checkpoints. If the authorities allowed them through then it meant that the Ukrainian government, or army, or elements of both were cooperating with Kaliba. Any transmissions could be monitored by Skynet. They needed to capture the factory unawares, like they did with Chihuahua. They didn't need a truck for the attack itself but they'd need it to bring the bomb later.

"Single vehicle approaching from the north," one of the T-888s called out from a rooftop, pointing at the road he meant. They'd waited for approximately four hours for a lone truck to come, long enough for Ronin, Caesar and Shirley to have already discussed alternative plans should they not find one.

Ronin peeked around the corner of the building and saw the truck approaching them in the distance, approximately one thousand metres away and closing. It continued to bear down on their position.

Caesar slung his M-32 behind his back and walked towards the truck with Shirley. The T-900 held his hands up and continued onwards as the truck came even nearer and pulled to a stop. The doors opened and a man wearing a black uniform got out from the passenger side as other men jumped out of the back. There were four of them from the rear, all armed with AKs and all bearing badges on berets and on their sleeves with the blue and yellow Ukrainian flag.

The senior man of the group shouted something at Caesar and Shirley but none of them understood the language. "This is a restricted area," he said, switching to English. "Are you idiots? This place is radioactive. You're all under arrest and–"

He was interrupted by a silver flash shooting from his side and catching him in the neck, drawing a red line under his chin. It took a second for his head to roll forward off his shoulders and the body to collapse on the floor in a heap. The other men stared at the blood dripping off the curved sabre that was Shirley's forearm. She didn't give any of them a chance to respond, moving forward and skewering them with both hands before any of them could fire a shot or even think of reaching for a radio.

"Hide the bodies," Ronin ordered as the T-888s assembled by the truck. The corpses were tossed through a window into one of the buildings, out of sight. They seemed to have been patrolling the Exclusion Zone, probably searching for trespassers.

"Get in," Shirley said to them as she took the driver's seat. Ronin got into the front while Caesar, Icarus and the others climbed into the rear of the vehicle. Shirley drove away from the dead men, swiftly accelerating from the scene.

They continued on for the next mile and a half without incident. Shirley stopped when they were two blocks away from the factory, switched the engine off and turned her head towards Ronin.

"Infiltrate the factory. We need to know their numbers and defences," he ordered.

Shirley made no reply but opened the door and slid out, stepping down from the truck onto the road. She reached up and put her hand on the seat she'd just vacated. The appendage turned silver and separated from the rest of her. She moved back and closed the door before morphing into a silver snake, then shot away from the truck. Within seconds she'd disappeared from Ronin's sight. The hand she'd left behind then formed a perfect silver sphere, which he put on the dashboard for the time being. He eased over into the driver's seat and glanced around through the windows and windshield for any signs of movement. The only thing he could do now was to wait while Shirley performed her recon.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1400 Local Time [0400 PST]**_

The mood inside the elevator was distinctly sour. The five passengers all shared the same sense of disappointment. John leaned against the mirrored wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at the floor. Sarah did likewise but with her hands in her pockets, while Thor, Freyr and Cameron stood rigid in identical stances.

"That went well," John said sarcastically, finally breaking the silence and voicing the frustration they all felt.

"We'll find them," Thor replied.

"Some time before Judgment Day would be nice," John shot back. First a pig farm, then an air show; he dreaded where they'd end up next. _Might as well go searching door to door._

"Judgment Day isn't for another four years: we have time."

 _For you, maybe,_ Sarah thought. She didn't know the test results yet but her gut told her she wouldn't make it another four years. She couldn't let John know that, though. She didn't hold out much hope but she didn't want her son to lose his.

"Could be less than that," John said. "We just don't know."

"Forget about it tonight," Sarah said to him. "Take the evening off and we'll think of something in the morning."

"Any ideas?" John asked Cameron.

"We can go back to Oregon," she suggested. "Infiltrate Klamath and search their records for shipment destinations or interrogate staff."

"We can't go back," Sarah said, shaking her head. "If we leave now Kaliba might find out we were here and up sticks. We might never find their factory again."

"They might have moved it already," Freyr said. "They knew the shipment was being tracked."

None of them liked the thought of that. It was hard enough to find any leads on Skynet even when it and Kaliba weren't hiding from them.

"I hear someone outside our room," Cameron said as the elevator came to a stop on their floor. She stepped through the opening doors into the hallway, quickly followed by the others. As Sarah moved forward she reached behind to grip the handle of the pistol in the back of her jeans but refrained from pulling it out completely. Now she heard voices too.

They rounded the corner and saw two women standing outside the entrance to their suite, facing Aegir. She couldn't understand what they were saying but she could tell from their tones that the two women were afraid. One of them shouted at Aegir, who said something back in Ukrainian.

"What's going on?" Sarah asked, walking up to them.

"Aegir: explain," Thor said.

"They're trying to enter the suite," Aegir said.

Sarah approached the two women. From their uniforms they appeared to be hotel staff; maids or housekeepers. "Do you speak English?" she asked. From the look on their faces, she guessed they didn't. "One of you," she said to the assembled cyborgs. "Find out what happened."

Thor switched to Ukrainian and spoke to the two. "Tell me what happened," he instructed them.

They looked at him warily, clearly suspicious, but one of them answered. "We're here to clean your suite, but that one," she pointed at Aegir, "threatened to kill us if we tried to enter."

"No one is going to kill you," Thor said to her.

"He said he'd break our necks!" the other one snapped angrily. Thor glanced up at his fellow Vanguard.

 _"Why were you threatening them?"_ he asked silently via radio.

 _"They could be working for Skynet. I won't take chances."_

Thor questioned his earlier decision to leave Aegir behind. Where Freyr had made human acquaintances and spent much of his time between missions learning, Aegir had shown no interest in social interaction whatsoever. Aegir didn't play well with others.

"We're sorry for our friend's behaviour," Freyr added.

"What's going on?" Sarah asked.

Cameron translated for her. "Aegir threatened to kill the housekeepers if they tried to enter the room."

 _"Goddamn metal,"_ she grumbled under her breath, knowing full well that Aegir could hear it. She pulled a wad of the local currency out of her back pocket and started counting out one and two hundred notes. "How much is that worth?" she asked Cameron as she took out two thousand Hryvni.

"Two hundred dollars."

Sarah doled out another two thousand and handed them each an equal wad. "Tell them we can keep it just between us."

Cameron did as Sarah asked and one of the housekeepers asked her something. She turned back to Sarah to translate again. "She says they have to change the sheets; they're paid per room they clean."

"Give us the sheets; we'll change them ourselves and you can tell your manager that you did it," Sarah said, just wanting to get this over with. Cameron again relayed the message and they nodded. One of them took a pile of sheets and pillowcases and handed them to Sarah, saying something and pointing to the laundry chute, before they quickly took their leave.

Cameron again translated the cleaner's final instruction. "We're to place the used sheets in there."

Once the cleaners had gone, disappearing down the corridor and into the elevator, Sarah turned on the massive cyborg, glaring daggers at him.

"What the _hell_ was that?" she snarled at him.

"They were a security threat," Aegir stated unapologetically.

"They're _cleaners_ and you were threatening to kill them?" She was incredulous. She stepped towards him and thrust out the sheets. _"You're_ making the beds since they can't."

Aegir sidestepped her as she held them out, again surprising Sarah with how quick a machine his size could be. "I don't make beds. I'll take watch on the roof." He marched off, leaving a furious Sarah Connor in his wake.

"I'll make the beds," Cameron said. She took the sheets from Sarah and let the elder Connor and two remaining Vanguards enter the suite before she and John did, with him closing and locking the door behind them.

John reached out and took the sheets from Cameron. "I'll do them," he said. He walked to their room and dropped them onto a chair before he started stripping the crumpled linens from their bed. Cameron started doing the same to the quilt and the pillows, removing the cases and dropping them in a pile on the floor.

"I can do it," she said.

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to," John replied. "I remember dumping the laundry on you a while back and I shouldn't have done that." What was worse, he thought, was how he'd turned the lights off and left her in the dark like she was just some appliance. "It was a really shitty thing to do, and I'm sorry."

"Its fine," she said to him as she inserted the duvet into the new cover and shook it out to even it.

"It's not. I saw in the morning that you were upset about it." John put the sheet over the mattress and tucked it in underneath.

"That didn't upset me," she said, moving to help John with the sheet. She tucked it in so tight and so precisely that it would have impressed any drill sergeant. "What upset me was that you'd snuck out to see Riley."

John looked away in shame. "I'm sorry for that, too," he said. He resolved that he'd never do anything like that to her, his mom, or anyone else who meant anything to him ever again. He gently pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. They both sat down on the bed and continued to kiss, both of them, for a moment, forgetting all the crap going on outside, content in each other's arms.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1415 Local Time [0415 PST]**_

The loading yard at the rear of the dilapidated-looking factory was completely still, with not a soul in sight. It was a large space, over two thousand square metres in area, surrounded by four metre high walls that were topped with razor wire. The only access into the yard was through a heavy, wrought-iron gate that appeared to be rusted with age and neglect, apart from the hinges. On the outside of the gate was an intercom system that again looked like it hadn't been used for over twenty years. A pair of CCTV cameras positioned above the loading bays were the only things that were out of place: they were far too clean and new; several generations ahead of the former-Soviet tech that should have been there instead.

That fact didn't go unnoticed by a small silver worm peeking up over the top of the wall, camouflaged by the razor wire that was a similar colour to it. The rest of Shirley was clinging flat against the wall, invisible to anyone without advanced thermal imaging hardware. She'd moved so slowly towards this point that even motion sensors wouldn't have spotted her. From her current position she could see both inside the yard and also behind her; if there were any external patrols she'd see them.

Watching the cameras, she calculated the angles they were covering. Inside the yard, two metres from the wall and running parallel to it, was one of two semi-trucks. The other was at a right angle to it, flush against the rear wall, where it had reversed to await the departure of the first transport before it backed into the loading bay. The second truck didn't interest her but she estimated that the first would conceal her entry over the wall from the cameras' view. She took the opportunity and crawled over the top, elongating herself into a silver snake and weaving between the gaps in the razor wire.

Once she was inside she maintained her serpentine shape and slithered underneath the truck's trailer, crawling forward and using the vehicle to keep her out of any possible view. She reached the loading bay and flattened herself again, taking on the colour of the ground as she made herself practically invisible and slowly edged forward. The loading bay was unoccupied. There was a pallet truck next to the wall to her left, presently unattended by whoever would be loading or unloading cargo into or out of the waiting truck.

 _"I'm inside,"_ she communicated to Ronin via the piece of her she'd left with him. Finding the loading bay still empty she continued on her way, carefully watching her surroundings until she reached a large open space bisected by a blue line on the floor. To the left of the line was just empty floor but to the right there were large wooden crates neatly arranged in lines, with two metres between each row. It seemed to be a staging area where they moved cargo to get it out of the way so that loading and unloading could continue, before it was moved to another location.

She heard voices speaking in what she assumed was Ukrainian and remained still as they approached. They stepped on her as they walked through the warehouse towards the loading bay she'd just come from. She was concerned for a moment that she had been detected as one of them paused to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as they passed over her but they moved on and disappeared into the bay.

With the loading bay behind her there were two wide entrances, both without doors and with signs above them that she couldn't read. They'd been in such a hurry to leave Chihuahua that there hadn't been time to learn the language.

 _Straight ahead or left?_ Anyone else – cyborg or human – would have been faced with a choice, but not her. Shirley turned chrome again, resembling a silver puddle on the floor. She then split herself in half and both segments then rose up and took on the respective appearances of the two men who'd walked on her en route to their cigarette breaks. In order to maintain their exact dimensions she had to create a cavity inside each torso, so as she walked through the two corridors, both Shirleys were actually hollow.

The two T-1001 halves marched quickly through the factory: the right-hand one entering a large warehouse that ran the length of the building while the other one walked into a packing area full of tall boxes that looked similar to coffins: she assumed these would be used to store each completed machine individually.

The Shirleys marched even faster, wanting to complete their reconnaissance as quickly as possible before the two humans she was impersonating returned to work. If someone saw the copy and then the real thing moments later in the direction she'd just come from, she'd be compromised. The T-888s knew what T-1001s were and were probably all aware that at least one had been involved in the ZeiraCorp ambush. She continued with an increased sense of urgency.

* * *

Six T-888s had spread out in an all-round defence, weapons taken from Chihuahua held at the ready as they scanned the area for signs of movement while their commander and his two lieutenants knelt over a silver puddle on the ground. Ronin, Caesar and Icarus watched closely as the puddle's edges straightened into a rectangle. Parts of the mass then raised slightly, forming straight lines and boxes inside the perimeter until it formed a three dimensional floorplan of the factory. _Very clever,_ Ronin thought. He'd expected the piece of Shirley to have just described what she saw to them, but she'd gone one better.

The puddle then came together, receding from its previous shape and rising up. As it did so, Caesar noticed the ground was indented in the exact pattern the liquid metal had formed, imprinting it perfectly onto the mud. The liquid metal then morphed into a miniature version of Shirley and looked up at them. She pointed at one edge of the building. "This is the ground floor," she said. She pointed to different sections and named them. The largest section was the factory floor itself. "They have one production line operational, one spare, and another under construction." She went on to detail the layout; how in another room just off the factory floor she'd seen a machine walking around, picking up and manipulating objects, jumping up and down, and throwing and catching a ball with a human.

"Testing their motor functions," Icarus surmised.

She continued to describe the factory and how it operated. The factory itself was actually an assembly plant: shipments of pre-built parts arrived, were sorted and placed on the factory floor to be assembled by a combination of automated machinery and human manual labour.

"There are two kinds of cyborgs," she told them. "The standard T-888 and the new ones we saw in the memory files. They're designated T-Triple-Eight Combat Variant; T-TECs for short."

"T-TEC," Ronin repeated. "I like it."

"Eight of the T-TECs are active: four work on the production line and four are acting as security detail. They're armed with belt-fed machine guns and grenade launchers."

Icarus frowned. "They're expecting us?"

"They know we're targeting them so they've increased their security detail," Caesar said. "Most Kaliba installations have probably done the same. If they expected us imminently there'd be sixty active T-TECs, not eight."

Ronin agreed with his lieutenant's opinion. "They're expecting us to attack but they don't know where. They've spread themselves thin."

"How many T-TECs do they have in total?" Ronin asked the mini-Shirley.

"Sixty deactivated and packed in crates; three are going through post-production testing."

"Plenty," he said.

"Plenty of reinforcements they can activate and send against us," Icarus said.

"Plenty of bodies for our comrades to inhabit," Ronin corrected him.

Caesar knew exactly what he meant. "With that many inactive in storage we don't need to worry about preserving any of the active ones."

"We'll need to be quick," Ronin said. He turned to Icarus. "Position the others on a rooftop overlooking here." He pointed to the south wall of the building, which according to Shirley's floorplan ran parallel to the production lines. "Open fire on the wall. Blast it open and draw their fire. Caesar and I will infiltrate from here." He pointed to the section that represented the loading bay on the north end. He glanced up at Icarus. "Shoot to kill, and keep yourselves behind cover. I don't want any more casualties. Keep them distracted."

"What are you going to do?" Icarus asked him.

Ronin's answer was immediate and absolute. "I'm going to kill them all."

* * *

Minutes later Ronin and Caesar waited around the corner from the yard at the rear of the factory, out of the building's direct line-of-sight. They were in position, ready to infiltrate, but were waiting to hear the sounds of a firefight.

"As soon as we're inside proceed to the warehouse and prevent anyone from activating the T-TECs," Ronin told Caesar.

"Understood," the T-900 replied. Caesar was heavily armed with a rocket launcher slung over his back, a belt-fed machine gun hanging from a strap on his side and an M-32 grenade launcher in his right hand. Ronin, on the other hand, carried no weapons at all. He activated his plasma cannons, once again tearing apart the skin that had barely regrown from the last time. Armed and ready, now they just had to wait.

* * *

Icarus lay prone on the flat roof of the long-derelict four-storey building that overlooked the factory, holding Caesar's M200 sniper rifle while the T-888s under his command spread out with their weapons; a mixture of machine guns, grenades and rocket launchers. Two of them were on the roof with him while the other two pairs were in ground-level flanking positions wide out to the left and right, providing multiple angles of fire those inside would have to contend with.

At their distance from the target he didn't need to look through the scope; they were less than a hundred metres away and it didn't matter where on the wall he hit. He pointed the weapon at the centre of the wall, behind which would be the main floor of the factory, containing the production line, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot blasted out of the rifle with the noise and force of a cannon and enough recoil to have painfully smacked his shoulder, had he been human. The .408 round punched a hole in the concrete the size of a dinner plate, allowing him to see inside the factory. In the space of a moment he saw men standing at an automated line, glancing at the hole he'd made, staring in silent confusion.

The silence didn't last. Once Icarus had loosed the first shot the others in his squad opened fire too. Two rockets and a volley of grenades widened the hole he'd made until a truck could've been driven right through without touching the sides. Icarus this time used the scope and selected a target; a figure wielding an AK. He fired and the round took his head clean off. More men and even some machines wilted under the withering fire. A few individuals – probably cyborgs – fired back but the enemy was concealed and elevated, so their shots were ineffective.

* * *

Caesar pulled up the rolling doors to one of the two loading bays and held it open as Ronin entered, before he went through himself and let it drop behind him. Inside they saw everything exactly as Shirley had described it to them: there was a pallet truck to one side and ahead of them they saw the sorting area, with crates on the right-hand side.

"Secure the T-TECs," Ronin ordered Caesar. The T-900 immediately complied and ran through the sorting area, disappearing from view. He then spoke to the piece of liquid metal stuck on his shoulder. "Search and clear the first and second floors." He didn't want any surprises to come from upstairs.

Ronin moved forward as well, past the crates of machine parts and through the _Goods Out_ section. He passed two rooms and glanced inside. Both were devoid of inhabitants. The first was approximately twenty metres long. At the far end were paper targets stuck to the wall with bullet holes in them, all in and around the middle, indicating whoever had fired them was a very accurate shot. On a desk to one side at the near end was a table with various objects: a 9mm pistol, a soccer ball, a forty-kilogram dumbbell and a stress ball among other items.

There was also a clipboard with sheets of writing that he didn't understand, but he knew what this room was. When he'd first came online he'd undergone the same procedures. His cognitive and physical functions had been tested to ensure there were no defects. The items were for the newly-built machines to manipulate. Every single machine had to undergo the tests upon initial activation.

The second room was square and held two glass tanks filled with liquid. Inside each was the likeness of a man, but the skin was translucent. Primitive versions of the machines Skynet used in the future to grow human flesh to cover terminators.

He ignored the two rooms and continued through the corridor, past a series of storerooms, restrooms, and other places that were irrelevant. He saw that production was done in three stages, and it was at the first stage, at the opposite end of the building, where the sounds of gunfire were coming from.

He heard shouting and footsteps approaching. Ronin held his plasma weapons forward and scanned the immediate area: no movement or heat signatures in sight but he could hear activity close by; heavy and multiple footsteps accompanied by someone shouting orders.

Four figures emerged in the passageway, all carrying AK-47s with grenade launchers. Ronin reacted immediately, pointing both his plasma cannons at the nearest two and firing a burst from each. Blue-white plasma streaked across the loading bay and struck the two defenders before they managed to fire even a single shot. The volley from his left weapon struck one in the face and reduced his skull into a mess of boiled skin, burning hair and shattered metal. He dropped instantly. Ronin's second burst hit another in the chest, penetrating through the hyper-alloy breastplate and striking his power cell. Smoke plumed from the gaping hole in the T-888's chest and also out of his open mouth. His eyes flashed red before the machine fell backwards to the ground, AK clattering on the concrete.

The other two machines responded in kind, unleashing a storm of lead from their Kalashnikovs that shredded through Ronin's skin. One round struck him in the bridge of his nose and immediately fragmented, tearing his right eyeball to shreds and obscuring his vision as the jelly smeared over his cybernetic eye. It didn't matter; his left was still intact. He pointed his plasma cannons at them and fired two more volleys. Plasma pierced their tough armoured hides and they shook from the impact of each hit before finally dropping to the ground.

He stepped over each of them to examine their remains and make sure they were completely dead, and as he did so he realised one still functioned. His plasma fire had blown it almost in half but still it continued to resist. The terminator looked up at him with one glowing red, exposed eye. An arm with no hand reached for an AK on the floor. Ronin stood over the broken machine with his plasma cannon pointing at its face. Undeterred, the Triple-Eight turned its attention from the rifle and reached for Ronin's leg in an attempt to bring him down. He easily stepped out of range, keeping the barrel of his plasma weapon pointed at its face. One shot finished it off, then he reformed one of his cannons back into a hand, reached up and tore the damaged eye out from his socket, revealing the glowing green orb within. With his vision now fully restored, he advanced through the factory.

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1515 Local Time [0515 PST]**_

 _"Mother of God,"_ Alex Timis blurted out as he ran for his life. His friend Andriy had been shot in the back as they'd fled but Alex had carried on, not daring to look behind. He was on his own now; apparently they weren't interested in him because he was alone, having gone after other prey. _One small mercy,_ though he didn't know how long it would last.

In the chaos he'd forgotten where he was and tried hard to think about where the nearest exit was. If he could get out of the building he'd just make a run for it, get the hell away and never look back. Then he looked out the window and remembered, _Shit, I'm on the second floor!_

He crossed a corner and saw Rick – one of the guys in charge – facing him with an assault rifle in his hands. "Here," Rick said, calling him over. Alex complied, stopping when he reached the tall blond man who seemed surprisingly unruffled by the events of the past couple of minutes.

Rick pulled him into the room, closed the door behind them and locked it. Alex leaned over and caught his breath for a moment before taking notice of where he was: the security office. There was a large desk with three flat screens forming a rough arc. There were three other men in the office besides himself and Rick. He knew one of them – Klausener, the site manager – who sat behind the desk, watching the screens while the other two held assault rifles with thick tubes under the barrel.

"Where'd you get those guns?" he asked.

By way of reply, Rick opened up a tall metal cabinet behind the desk and pulled out a rifle and five magazines. He put them on the desk and slid them across to Alex, who reached out and brushed his fingers along the wooden handguard but was reluctant to pick it up. "I haven't used a gun in years," he said. "It's been twenty years since I was conscripted."

"Point and pull the trigger," Rick replied.

"What's happening?" Alex asked.

"Here," Klausener said, pointing at the screen.

Alex looked and saw a scene of absolute chaos on the factory floor. The production lines had been smashed and a handful of people still alive were pinned down. A couple of men tried to make a break for it but were cut down by the gunfire. _Who's attacking them? What do they want?_ A hundred questions filled his head but one was the most prominent: _How do I get the hell out of here?_

"What is that?" Klausener asked Rick as on the screen a tall, dark-haired man marched towards the defenders and fired white-blue bolts at them from behind, cutting them to shreds. "I've never seen a machine like that before."

"Neither have I," Rick replied.

 _Machine?_ Alex glanced at the two managers, confused. He saw a man on screen, not a machine. Yet this 'man' was firing some kind of energy weapon from his hands and shrugging off gunfire like he was some kind of comic-book superhero. He looked closer and saw that his face had been torn. Beneath ripped skin was metal. One of his eyes glowed bright green like an LED. _How can a machine look like a man?_

The footage changed to show a tall, powerfully-built black man, bald as an egg, standing outside the entrance to the warehouse. Two bodies lay still on the ground in front of him and Alex could see pools of blood spreading out from underneath them.

"We need to activate the T-TECs," Rick said. They were their only chance to successfully repel whatever that machine was.

Alex knew what they were: the combat machines they'd been building. He didn't know who they were planning to sell them to – nobody spoke about that. It didn't matter. "Why don't we just run?" he asked. "Break the windows and find a way to climb down."

"If you run I'll shoot you," Rick said curtly. "We're going to activate the completed units."

"Sixty are currently complete but we don't have CPUs for all of them," Klausener replied. "The Osaka facility is behind schedule."

"We have the drone chips," Rick said. "They'll do for now." They didn't need intelligence for this; just numbers and firepower.

One of the other men who'd remained silent decided to contribute. "Those chips are so new they're still shrink-wrapped; we haven't even programmed them yet. Just basic operating system."

"They'll obey voice commands," Rick replied. He pointed at a floorplan of the factory posted on one of the walls. "The finished units are here," he said, indicating a storage area to one side of Assembly Unit One, on the north side of the building. "The CPUs are in the same room, eighty metres from here."

"With those things out there?" Alex asked, incredulous. "It's suicide."

"If you run I'll shoot you," Rick repeated his earlier threat.

 _Great,_ Alex thought. _Either die to what's out there or die to the people in here._

"You," Rick said, pointing at the man who'd commented on the CPUs. "Stay here: monitor our progress and tell us if any of them approach."

Rick reopened the door and came face to face with a woman, who stared at him with cold eyes. The woman's colour changed for a split second, skin flashing chrome before returning to normal. In the blink of an eye her hands changed: one into a sledgehammer and the other into a long, curved blade. Rick instantly opened fire and loosed the whole thirty-round magazine into his new opponent, though it did nothing; the bullets simply went straight through her and every wound sealed up again in seconds.

"My turn," Shirley said, a malevolent smile growing on her face as she approached her soon-to-be victims.

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1520 Local Time [0520 PST]**_

Ronin deactivated his plasma cannons and stepped over the smouldering remains of the final T-888 he'd eliminated. "The second and third levels are clear," the piece of Shirley on his shoulder announced. The firing from outside ceased a moment later; Icarus having heard the same message from the liquid metal portion he had with him.

"We're approaching," Icarus called from the rooftop opposite.

"Do you have any casualties?" Ronin asked.

"None."

That was good news to Ronin. Losing three of their own in Chihuahua had been bad enough, but Patrick was gone, too. They couldn't afford any more losses.

As he waited for Icarus and his squad to arrive Ronin walked through the factory complex towards Caesar's position. He found the T-900 standing sentinel outside the door to one of the warehouses. "The factory is clear," he told Caesar. His lieutenant said nothing but Ronin was certain that he was unhappy at being assigned to guard duty instead of fighting the T-888s. It was what he'd been designed to do, of course, and Ronin knew that he enjoyed doing it. "Next time," he promised him.

Caesar silently opened the door to the warehouse. Inside were a few dozen wooden boxes stood upright and clustered in groups of four, held together by shrink wrap on wooden pallets for ease of transport. Each one was two metres long by seventy-five centimetres wide, by sixty centimetres deep.

Ronin went up to one pallet and tore the shrink wrap off, then grabbed the lid of one of the boxes and pulled it off to reveal what they had flown all the way to Ukraine for. It stood approximately the same height as Caesar and was a matte grey in colour. From the files of the Vassily terminator he'd read they were the same basic design as a standard T-888, but built of denser alloys and with reinforced joints. _Unlike_ the T-888s this model was completely covered in armour; there were no pistons or hydraulic lines exposed that could fall victim to lucky shots. T-888s were difficult for humans to kill but sustained, concentrated fire even with standard assault rifles would cause damage over time. He'd seen T-888s hit in their hydraulic lines, rendering a limb useless and drastically reducing a cyborg's combat effectiveness.

Not so with these. Ronin likened them to a human skeleton: if the Triple-Eights' endos were the basic bones then these had been fleshed out. Ronin reached out and took it by the forearm, raising and turning the limb so he could see its underside. On a standard infiltrator the rods controlling movement in the fingers would be visible in the wrist. On these they were concealed behind a layer of hyper-alloy armour. Every vulnerable point had been covered to provide maximum protection.

He turned to Caesar. "Could you beat one of these?"

"Yes," the T-900 replied without hesitation.

"What about three or four of them armed with the same weapons you're holding now?"

Caesar paused for a split second. "I don't know."

That was what Ronin had expected. He let go of the arm as Shirley arrived from one direction, and Icarus and his squad arrived from another. Ronin took out his cell phone and dialled Carter, still sitting at the plane. Carter answered quickly but didn't say anything, waiting for Ronin to speak.

"The factory is secure," he told Carter. "I'm sending Icarus to collect the thermobaric bomb. Stay with the plane. I'll bring you a new chassis and we'll implant you before we leave." He hung up and turned to Icarus, passing him the keys to the truck they'd driven to the site. "Go with him," he told Shirley. She could pass for one of the men they'd killed and that would get them out of and back into the exclusion zone without incident.

"There's a map in one of the rooms upstairs," Shirley said, as the small silver communications offshoots recombined with the T-1001's body. "We can't use the route we came. I estimate it will take three hours to reach the airport."

 _Disappointing,_ Ronin thought. A six hour round trip wasn't what he'd hoped for, but it was still far less than their painfully slow approach. He was rapidly learning that the past wasn't as simple as he'd expected. "So be it," he said.

The T-900 and T-1001 disappeared out of the warehouse towards the hole blasted in the factory wall. Ronin turned to the six cyborgs assembled before him and Caesar. "Remove each other's chips and plant them in one of these," he told them. There were sixty T-TECs and forty-five CPUs, including those they'd already activated and those still waiting in the cylinder they'd brought back with them. Once they were at full force – his current cohort plus the forty-five awaiting activation – Skynet would be helpless. The cybernetic god would soon be his slave.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1700 Local Time [0700 PST]**_

Seldom had Sarah ever known peace and quiet before. The last time she'd ever truly relaxed had been long before 1984. Even before Kyle and the terminator had shattered the world around her she'd spent many a night up late studying; cramming for exams, writing assignments into the early hours of the morning, and weekends out partying hard with Ginger. Afterwards her world had turned upside down. She'd still been a student but of a different kind: textbooks had been replaced with field manuals and survival guides; nights out partying had been pushed aside for nights in field-stripping and cleaning the weapons she'd bought with her student loan cash. Instead of study sessions for exams she'd been tutored by guerrilla fighters and mercenaries.

Since then she'd almost forgotten what it was to be able to just relax and unwind, as shown by the previous day's frustrations when she'd sought to fill her empty hours. It had been topped by another fruitless endeavour today, so her present situation was something very foreign to her indeed.

Sarah craned her head back as she slid a little more into the hot tub, sighing contentedly as the bubbles blasted out of the underwater jets against her skin. She reached out of the tub with one hand and pulled a glass of champagne to her lips, taking a swig before topping up the glass from the rest of the bottle. The champagne wasn't the only treat she'd afforded herself. A box of imported Swiss chocolates sat on the ledge just next to the tub so she could occasionally reach down and pick one, not far from John's laptop sitting on a chair with her clothes. Duran Duran sang out from the speakers, giving her a little reminder of her life before. She'd laid in the hot tub for half an hour – a phenomenally long time for her to sit still and do nothing.

 _I need this,_ she thought as she popped another chocolate into her mouth and chewed slowly, savouring it. With everything that had happened recently: first the three dots, getting shot and that Kaliba guy, Winston; that whole John-Cameron-Riley situation; losing Charley, then Derek; being caught and sent to prison only to be rescued by more machines; being flown halfway around the world on two wild goose chases; the cancer tests and the unbearable wait for the news... She knew she needed to unwind or she'd snap. She'd come dangerously close to it over the past few weeks.

So there she was, mostly immersed in hot water and feeling at ease for the first time in a long while. After coming back from the air show they'd decided that enough was enough; Ukraine was a bust and they had nothing more to go on. Thor had agreed and called John Henry to announce that they intended to return home, and Sarah had said they might as well take the rest of the day off. John and Cameron were out; she hadn't asked where they were going. Both were armed and Cameron would keep him safe if the unlikely were to happen. Though from what she'd seen so far it didn't seem like there was a single machine in the whole country, apart from John's entourage.

When the song finished she reached out and scrolled down the playlist for another one, getting water on the laptop's keyboard in the process. It didn't seem to affect the computer though. _If it does break, Weaver just can buy John another one._ Sarah couldn't say she was happy – not with everything that had gone wrong – but she was content for now, and in a surprisingly good mood. The war could wait until tomorrow: she had chocolate, champagne, and all the greatest hits of the Eighties on now she would eat, drink and be merry.

A heavy knocking on the door stopped her before she could choose the next song. "Yes?" she called out wearily, wishing she could be left alone for just a few hours. She was alone in the suite apart from one other, and she didn't want to be around him when she was trying to unwind.

Aegir opened the door and stepped out into the balcony, regarding Sarah as she sprawled in the hot tub.

"Since when do you ever knock?" Sarah asked him curiously.

"That was my first," Aegir replied, not realising the question was rhetorical. "We never needed to knock in the future; the guards knew we were coming."

"Not like you guys are hard to miss," Sarah said. "What's up?" she asked, wanting Aegir to get to the point so she could enjoy the hot tub on her own some more.

"Catherine Weaver called again."

"Let me guess: she was in a bad mood?"

"Yes."

"If she knew how much the hotel bill's gonna be she'd be even more pissed."

"Her mood is irrelevant: Thor's in charge. Not her."

"And you reminded her of that, of course?"

"Of course."

"You don't like her very much, do you?" She raised her glass and tilted it slightly towards Aegir. "I guess we _do_ have something in common. Cheers," she said before taking a sip.

Aegir continued, "She's chartered another plane to fly us back. It's due to arrive in seventeen hours. She says if we're not on it twenty-four hours from now it will take off without us; she'll cancel the credit cards and void our passports."

Sarah glanced down and saw her scowling reflection in the water. "She's got us over a barrel," she said to Aegir. "If we don't return, we're on our own. If we go back empty-handed then we're basically saying we can't do this ourselves. She'll end up running the whole show."

Aegir didn't reply. He stared at Sarah as she remained semi-prone, leaning against the inside of the tub, with the bubbles constantly erupting on the surface as if the water were boiling. "What is that?" he asked.

"Hot tub," Sarah replied. "It's meant to be relaxing. Not that you guys would know what that's like."

"We should get one for the safe house when we return."

"Why'd you say that?" Sarah asked.

"The Alliance depends on Cameron's and Connor's relationship."

 _And?_ Sarah thought, waiting for the Vanguard to elaborate. When he didn't she decided to bite. "What's that have to do with a hot tub?"

"They had intercourse in there last night. If we buy one they can continue, which aids the relationship and secures the Alliance."

Sarah's jaw dropped suddenly and she stared at Aegir with an open mouth and wide eyes. "You're saying John and Cameron had sex… in this hot tub… that I'm sitting in right now?"

"Correct." He'd been watching TV in the lounge but he had heard them, as had Thor on the roof.

Water exploded out of the tub in a miniature tsunami that washed over the balcony tiles and soaked Aegir's boots and jeans as Sarah leapt out of the tub higher and faster than Aegir had thought any human was capable of. She stood there glaring at him in her swimsuit before she grabbed a towel. "You didn't think to tell me about that _before_ I sat soaking in here for over half an hour?"

"I don't see how it's relevant."

 _"You wouldn't!"_ Sarah grabbed her towel and marched back into John and Cameron's bedroom. She glanced at the large queen-sized bed. It was perfectly made without a single crease in the sheets. _Why couldn't they have just done it there like a normal couple?_ She'd only just accepted their relationship, even if grudgingly so, but she wanted to put it out of her mind and not think about it. A lot of things in her life had been taken from her, and now her son and his tin girlfriend had just ruined hot tubs for her forever. "Where are they?" she growled.

"On the roof."

"Get them back here! Get everyone: meeting in thirty minutes. Until then, don't disturb me," she said to Aegir. "I'm going to take a shower." _A very hot_ _shower._

She left the room and went back to hers. Despite her feelings toward Cameron she wanted to be happy for her son. She _wanted to_ but it still made her skin crawl. Even more so after realising she'd been sitting in a pool of what John and Cameron – and probably countless other couples before – had gotten up to; all she could think of was what would be floating around in the water. She had a feeling that there wasn't enough soap in the world to make her feel clean again.

* * *

John leaned back, ignoring the chill of the night air as he looked out over the city and took a sip of his beer. Cameron, ever cautious with his safety, had insisted that alcohol and heights were a bad combination when he'd suggested checking out the roof. He found it funny how paranoid she could be about protecting him. He'd had half a bottle of beer. Granted, he thought, it was a local brew – he couldn't even read the label – and it was strong, but it was only the one. Still, she'd reluctantly agreed to come up to the roof. He was sitting on the ledge of the building, his legs dangling over the end. Cameron sat next to him, a beer of her own at her side, mostly full. She held his hand with hers and kept her other hand on the ledge. John figured it was in case he fell; she could hold onto the roof and pull him up.

He'd wanted to come out here to be alone with her, away from anyone else. Thor was still up on the roof, on overwatch, but he was at the other end of the hotel and out of sight. John still didn't know how they'd managed to spend so long up here without being caught. The roof was off-limits to guests.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. "You're pretty quiet, even for you."

"I've been thinking," she said.

John chuckled. "Do you ever _stop_ thinking?"

"No."

"What're you thinking?" he asked.

"About us. What we are."

John frowned, concerned. "What do you mean?"

"Am I your girlfriend?"

"Do you want to be?" John asked.

"Yes." Cameron's answer came immediately, no hesitation at all. They were already sat so close together that they appeared almost joined at the hip and shoulder. John wrapped his arm around her shoulder to pull her even closer. "The others are hiding something from us," she said to John.

"Like what?"

"In Serrano Point and the safe house they spoke about the future but were vague about us. I asked Freyr for more detail but he refused to say."

"I guess they don't want to spoil things," John said. He'd noticed the same thing as Cameron and he had a pretty good idea what it was they were hiding. The way his mom had told him, vaguely, how he had to make his own decision. He'd made it, and feeling her in his arms, he knew he'd made the right one. Down deep he knew that he would always have chosen her. Current events had definitely helped things along but he knew that in the end he would have opted to be with Cameron. He couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

"About us," Cameron said, catching on. "What if they don't want to tell us because it's bad?"

"How can it be bad?" John asked. "You heard Thor's story: we were both there at the end. Together. A couple." That was the only part Thor had left out.

"We were both there. Not necessarily a couple."

John smiled. "Well, we're a couple _now._ Unless you dump me at some point. I wouldn't blame you; I know I can be a dick sometimes."

Cameron looked him in the eye with a piercing gaze. "I'd never dump you," she said, resolute. John had saved her on his birthday when his mother and Derek wanted to burn her. She recalled Weaver's offer to John: _"Will you join us?"_ He'd stopped her from becoming a vessel for John Henry, saving her again. He'd saved her a third time when the other T-1001 had pinned her and was about to remove her chip. It had been reckless of him and he should have run, but he'd cared enough about her to risk his own life. No one else had ever cared. Sarah saw her as a useful, albeit untrustworthy tool. Derek saw her as the enemy. Catherine Weaver saw her as spare parts. Only John cared about her.

"I'll never leave you," she repeated. "Do you think if I tell Freyr that I know, he'll tell me more about us in the future? He wouldn't when I spoke to him at the safe house after we patrolled together."

"Why'd you leave?" he asked her. He remembered going to sleep and she'd been right there with him.

"To let you sleep. You needed the rest."

"I didn't really sleep well though; I'm kinda getting used to you being there."

"I've noticed," Cameron said. "It will make night patrols challenging."

"Challenges are there to be overcome," John said, using one of his mom's mantras. "Besides; do you even _need_ to patrol now? We've got three Vanguards."

"What would I do?" she asked. The Vanguards had proven themselves both trustworthy and extremely capable, but she wasn't comfortable with leaving any aspect of John's safety to someone else.

"Be my girlfriend," John said. "And _their…"_ He pointed in the general direction of Thor, "commander. They said you're a leader in the future. We can start leading together." He drank some more of his beer and Cameron did the same with hers. He knew that she _could_ eat and drink; he still didn't really know _why_ she did.

"I'd like that," Cameron said, flattered. She gently squeezed his hand.

"What did you and Freyr talk about?" John asked.

"I asked him about my future self."

"And?"

"He declined to elaborate on what Thor had said, other than that the design of the Vanguard CPU is based on mine."

"That's interesting," John said. "Anything else?"

"I asked him if Future-Cameron had passed on any advice for me."

John chuckled at her use of the term 'Future-Cameron.' They'd all become used to separating him from Future-John, but had never had to distinguish between her and a future self. "And did she?" he asked.

"No."

"You think he was lying?"

"No."

"What did you think she'd say?"

"She'd tell me how to stop myself from killing you. If she was still there, she must have found a way. She'd know it would be the first question I'd ask."

John knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was: it really was the most important thing to her. But if it was now, it surely would always be. Future-Cameron would be aware of the consequences of changing past events; the one sitting beside him had proved that with her carefully chosen revelations and abundance of secrets. Also, she wouldn't care about the personal cost to herself if she revealed something: his safety, his future, were all that mattered. Yet she had said nothing, which was revealing in itself.

"Maybe you already know the answer?" he suggested. In Freyr's future they'd been together for over twenty-five years and she hadn't killed him. He wasn't worried about it. John dipped his head down to hers and kissed her. Cameron slid back off the ledge, away from the edge of the building, and led John with her to stand at a safe distance before she kissed him back.

They remained in place, pressed together in each other's arms, locked at the lips and lost in each other. Cameron heard a commotion from their suite below but made no reaction. She didn't want to stop.

"Your mother's called a meeting," Thor said as he approached, interrupting them. "Thirty minutes."

"Why?" John asked, but Thor had already disappeared, quickly marching to the fire escape that led back into the hotel. He turned to Cameron, who was still in his embrace. "What's that about?" he asked her, confused.

Cameron had heard Sarah's and Aegir's exchange while she and John had been kissing, so she told him. "Aegir told your mother that we had coitus in the hot tub. While she was sitting in it. She's upset."

 _"What?"_ John protested. "But we didn't!"

Cameron nodded. Sarah Connor made up rules as she went along, while John broke them when it suited. Neither was easy to predict, but she knew whose side she would be on if it came to a fight. "Time to go," she said, taking his hand.

He was still grumbling as they took the stairs down to the Presidential Suite. "Who the hell says 'coitus' these days anyway?" She ignored it; she was more interested in what Sarah might have in store for them. Unfortunately, whatever John's mother was muttering to herself was drowned out by the shower working at maximum.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 1730 Local Time [0730 PST]**_

The atmosphere inside the Presidential Suite was sombre. Terse, even. In the lounge, John and Cameron sat on one of the couches while Freyr sat on the other. Thor and Aegir stood. It was the first time since checking in that all three Vanguards had been in the suite at once. One of them had always been on the roof on overwatch.

Their bags were packed and they were ready to return to the US. None of them was happy about it; they'd failed to find what they'd come all this way for and were about to return empty-handed.

Sarah entered the lounge from her room, holding a large map of Ukraine. Her hair was combed back and pulled into a bun, still slightly damp from her shower. She knew it made her look severe, but that was the point. She wore dark jeans and a black turtleneck, outside of which was her gun in a shoulder holster that none present had seen before. Altogether her ensemble lent her a serious air, telling everyone that she meant business, even if it was lost on four-fifths of them.

She unfolded the map and taped it to the wall, taking her time about it despite the fidgeting of her son. She could sense the tension in the air, and that was how she liked it; they were ready. She turned to face them. "Kaliba's gotta be here. We've missed something," she said to the group.

"Mom, you said that about the three red dots and that led us on a wild goose chase to nowhere," John said. "You got shot, we nearly lost all our money–"

"Well, we've lost it now!" Sarah snarled, annoyed that John was the first to interrupt, and so soon. "What happened to it?"

"It was in the cabin that got destroyed at Crater Lake," Cameron informed her.

Sarah shook her head, thinking about what it took to get the stash in the first place, and then recover it twice; they all involved Cameron doing what she did best. Then she remembered something else. She'd wanted to mention it at the time, back when they arrived at Serrano Point, but other events precluded it, not least John's blossoming relationship with the machine. "What about the bank of computers behind Savannah's metal friend, huh? It had three red dots, just like the marks on our basement wall."

"Yeah, that's just John Henry," John said nonchalantly.

"Are you _insane?"_ Sarah snapped, a red mist descending over her. When she saw the confused look on her son's face it only made her angrier. He didn't even know what she was talking about; he was so blind to it. "You put _way_ too much trust in these machines, John. Look at us: there's two of us and four machines here; another two back in Serrano Point. They outnumber us three to one."

"Two-to-one," Freyr corrected her. "James Ellison is human."

"That makes me feel _so much_ better," she said, giving the machine a withering look.

"You're the one who put Thor in charge, Mom," John argued.

"It's not _him_ I'm worried about. Why didn't you say anything before, about the three dots? Did you know what they meant?"

John shook his head. "Not until we met Weaver; I saw three red dots on the console and put two and two together. After that, when _we_ met up, I was too busy not dying, so it kinda slipped my mind."

"Did you know?" Sarah asked Cameron, a hint of accusation in her voice. "Did you know that the three dots is John Henry?"

"No. I found out about John Henry the same time as you: when Savannah mentioned him."

"That's not all though, is it? Something about Ellison's message got you into ZeiraCorp." She remembered how evasive Cameron had been about that during their brief conversation on the plane trip over.

"James Ellison gave me a message from Catherine Weaver that I recognised from the future."

"So you knew Weaver and you never bothered to mention it once. You just blithely trust her with John's life, with the future of the world, even though we have no idea what her real agenda is."

"Leave her alone, Mom!" John said.

Sarah turned her head again to glare at her son. "That must have been one hell of a good fuck!"

 _"What?"_ John couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't know whether to cringe or shout.

"You. Her," Sarah said pointing at them. "You just automatically take her side. One fuck in a hot tub and–"

"We fucked in the bed," Cameron corrected her. "Twice." She liked the facts to be accurate.

"Even better!" Sarah said sarcastically, dropping her head into her hands.

"Mom!" John said through gritted teeth. He tried to rise off the couch, but Cameron increased her grip on his hand just enough to stop him in his tracks. "We need them," he said.

"Think it through, John," Sarah argued. "We have nothing and she just invites you out of the blue. She gives us a home, a car, guns, money; whatever we need to fight Skynet, but it's _us_ doing the fighting, not her. That's how she wants it, and she'll dangle all of it in front of us like a carrot, ready to take it away the moment we don't play ball." It still incensed her how Weaver had threatened to cut them off if they came home empty-handed. "This isn't an alliance, John; she has us over a barrel, which is exactly where she wants us."

John closed his eyes for a moment. He'd had enough of this. "We wouldn't have had nothing if you hadn't ditched Cameron and Derek." _And Charley might still be alive._ "We can't do this on our own, Mom. And I'm not blind; I know Weaver wants to control us but it won't come to that." He turned to the Vanguards. "Who do you follow?" he asked.

"Thor," Aegir replied.

"Cameron's our commander," Thor added.

"I follow you," Cameron said immediately, anticipating John's question to her before he'd even asked it.

John glanced back at his mother. "Weaver doesn't hold as many cards as she thinks she does."

Thor watched the humans arguing, with increasing curiosity. Now he knew why Sarah had asked him to take command; presently she didn't seem to be offering much in the way of effective leadership. John was astute, though. Thor knew that he was right. Catherine Weaver had immense resources at her disposal but she lacked soldiers. Connor had no money but he had Cameron's loyalty, and she had his, Freyr's and Aegir's. He decided to end the argument and alleviate some of Sarah's fears.

"Sarah's right about the three dots," he said. "It's more significant than any of you know."

"How?" Sarah asked, turning her angry stare at the Vanguard commander. She felt that everyone knew about these goddamn dots but her!

Thor turned to Cameron. "I need your knife," he said.

Cameron opened up her switchblade and handed it to him. Thor removed his jacket and t-shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up.

In his hand the knife looked ridiculously small. Thor pressed the blade into the skin where the pectoral muscle met his right shoulder. He started his incision there and sliced a diagonal line to the centre of his chest, then turned the blade ninety degrees and cut another line running just below the nipple. Using the blade, he peeled the layers of skin and muscle away to reveal the metal beneath; dark grey rather than the usual chrome, and a different shape to a standard terminator breastplate.

What stood out the most, however, wasn't the colour of the metal but the markings stencilled on it: three red dots pointing downward inside a black triangle.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Flag of the Alliance," Thor replied.

"And you all have one?" Sarah asked, glancing at the other two.

Freyr said, "Every cyborg has it stencilled on their chest. Every human soldier has an identical emblem on either a sewn-on badge or an armband."

Thor pushed the flap of skin and muscle back into place over his chest and redressed, concealing the wound. Taking matters into his own hands, he moved to inspect the map. Sarah hadn't pointed at anything and nothing stood out. "What did we miss?" he asked her.

Sarah, drawing on her years of experience, gathered her thoughts and refocused. "I don't know. Something." She picked up a black marker pen and studied the map. "We're here," she said, drawing a dot on the centre of Kiev before she then drew a circle around Boryspil International Airport. She then marked the other large airports in the country, including Gostomel, the one they'd landed at. Next she looked at the scale in the corner, took some measurements with a piece of string and tried to do a mental calculation, but gave up. There were four others in the room who could do the math for her. _Why keep a dog and bark yourself?_ "How many miles is three hundred kilometres?" she asked.

"One hundred eighty-six," Cameron said instantly. "Approximately," she added, glancing at the Vanguards. They would soon discover that Sarah Connor didn't appreciate their level of precision.

"Other than Boryspil and Gostomel, the nearest airport outside of Kiev is a little over three hundred kilometres away as the crow flies," Sarah said, looking at all assembled before her. "Call it two hundred miles." She beckoned Cameron over, who checked with John; he just shrugged and waved her on.

"You're good at drawing, right?" Sarah said, handing her the marker pen. "Draw a circle with a radius of one hundred miles around Boryspil Airport."

"Why?" Cameron asked.

"Because if they were going to drive any further they'd have landed at a different airport." Cameron proceeded to draw a perfect circle. Sarah thought it was uncanny but at the same time chilling. "They've got to be somewhere in here," she said, pointing to the inside.

"Unless they gave us a false lead," Aegir replied.

"They already did that with the pig farm," John said. "I agree with Mom: they must have found the tracker after the plane landed, then got rid of it; fed it to some pigs they found on a truck going the other way." That, he thought, would explain why they found the tracker in a pile of pig shit.

"A radius of one hundred miles," Cameron said, drawing John's attention back to the map, "means a search area of thirty-two thousand square miles."

Freyr noticed that Cameron was now using imperial measurements for John and Sarah's benefit, and decided in future to do the same.

John shook his head. "We can't search all that." He supposed they could, in theory. If Weaver hadn't refused to keep bankrolling them they could continue the search but it was a massive undertaking and it'd take the six of them forever.

"Maybe we don't have to," Sarah said. "Where was the farm we went to when we first got here?" Thor pointed a massive finger at a spot three inches to the right of Kiev on the map. "We followed it east so maybe we should check west first." She glanced up at Thor. "Was there any factory in Ukraine in your time?"

"I don't know," he replied. "We never operated in Europe."

"Worth a try," Sarah said. She'd thought he'd say that but still had to ask.

"You said that troops came from all around the world to boost the Alliance," John said to Thor. "None of them mentioned anything?"

"Not to us."

John went to his bag, took his laptop out and turned it on while Sarah continued to pore over the map. It didn't take long for it to boot up and with a few strokes of the keyboard he made a Skype call to John Henry.

 _"Hello,"_ the AI said, smiling onscreen, distracting Sarah from the map. _"Are you still coming back today or did you find anything?"_

"We haven't found anything yet but we're brainstorming," he said. "We could do with some help. Mom…" he invited her to talk. For a moment Sarah hesitated. Her first inclination was to refuse his help, both out of instinct to not trust the machines and also out of sheer pride. _Get over it,_ she told herself. This was bigger than her pride and she wanted to live long enough to see Skynet gone.

"Okay," she said. "Let's go back to the beginning." She looked at John Henry on the screen, his monitor behind him displaying a series of rapidly changing images that she supposed were his thoughts. "The shipment landed at Boryspil. Then what?"

 _"It stayed at the airport for approximately nine hours and thirty-four minutes before it left, moving east."_ As he spoke an image of Ukraine appeared behind him with a red dot indicating the airport. A blue dot appeared and moved away from Kiev, trailing a line behind it, marking its travelled route until it stopped again at a point around twenty miles east of its starting point. _"It stopped here for twenty-six minutes,"_ John Henry said. _"Then it continued for seven kilometres and stopped again."_

"What's there?" John asked as the blue dot once again stopped where John Henry indicated.

As by way of an answer, an image appeared on the monitor behind him: a bright yellow gas station. John Henry continued, _"After ten minutes the signal moved in the same direction, heading east, until it reached the farm three hours later."_

"Confirms what we already know," Sarah said. "They sent us on a wild goose chase." She pointed at the gas station image behind John Henry. "They must have found the tracker and put it into another truck heading east." It was worrying that they'd done such a thorough inspection of the cargo and she wondered whether they always did that or if something else had spooked them. It couldn't be a coincidence, she thought, that all this happened just after T-Zero had ambushed Kaliba's attack force inside ZeiraCorp. "Forget everything east of Kiev for now, then: where else could it go? Is west too obvious?"

On the map, the road that the shipment had travelled east on became highlighted in red. The same E40 that they had travelled on from Kiev before taking the smaller roads that had led to the pig farm.

"We need to think about where they _could_ put a factory," Thor said.

"They'd have two choices," Cameron added. "Either build a new facility or use an existing one."

"It'd be easier for them to use a factory that's already there than building one from scratch," John said. "So we're looking for industrial areas."

John Henry got to work and started searching for all industrial zones in Kiev. Names of places started to appear, none of which any of those assembled in the lounge had ever heard of.

"Make sure to include old or abandoned industrial parks," Sarah added as the thought came to her. "If they can avoid being seen they probably will." Pretty much any developed country would have some disused areas; places where there'd once been industry but had since dried up. She thought of the ghost towns back in California and Nevada where gold and silver mines had been, abandoned once they'd run dry. "If Ukraine's got an equivalent to Detroit, I'd start there."

More names of places began to appear, scrolling down as others took their place. Added to them were newspaper headlines, translated into English, for matches to the places. Sarah's eyes widened as she saw one name that instantly rang alarm bells: _'Chernobyl.'_

"Stop there," she said, and John Henry complied.

 _"What is it?"_ the AI asked.

"Chernobyl."

The list of names disappeared, replaced by just two: _'Chernobyl'_ and _'Pripyat.'_ In addition to that were several photographs of the town and the power plant.

"There," Sarah said.

"How can you be sure?" Freyr asked.

"Think about it: if you wanted to build a factory in total secrecy, where you'd never have to worry about someone stumbling on what you're doing, where better?" She could have smacked herself for not thinking of it before. She turned to Cameron and the Vanguards. "Your power cells are nuclear, right?"

"Yes," Cameron confirmed.

"So if they need some uranium or whatever, they've got it right there. And only a machine would be able to go in and get it."

Cameron agreed. "Machines wouldn't care about the radiation."

"But _we_ should," John said.

 _"Inside the town the radiation isn't dangerous unless you're there for an extended period of time,"_ John Henry said. He brought up more images of an industrial park, long abandoned. Warehouses were visible with broken windows, peeling paint and crumbling brickwork. Grass had grown long with nobody to maintain it and cars and trucks parked on the side of the roads were severely rusted. Even from the photo John could see the place was entirely dead. Next to that photo was another of the town itself, much the same except this time it was houses, stores and schools that had been left to ruin.

"Is that what everywhere is like after Judgment Day?" he asked Cameron. "Everything's just dead and abandoned?"

"Yes," Cameron said. "Most towns and cities not destroyed by the nuclear attacks were abandoned by people fleeing either the radioactive fallout or the machines that came later." She didn't add that most people who fled would have died out in the open, either from radiation, machines, exposure to the elements or starvation.

Thor had some slightly better news for John in that regard. "We retook abandoned towns in our time, secured them and used them as staging areas for our frontline forces. Farm towns were put back into use to grow food for the soldiers."

"How do we get there?" John asked.

John Henry initially replied not verbally but again with data on his monitor: a set of GPS coordinates and also an image of the proposed route on a roadmap. _"It should take two hours, twenty minutes to reach Pripyat, depending on traffic,"_ he said helpfully.

"Great," John said. "We'll check it out and be in touch soon."

Sarah then cut in. "Tell Weaver we're not going in there until we get some better weapons. More 7.62 rounds, more grenades, more rockets and more Semtex."

It was Catherine Weaver's voice, offscreen, that answered them. _"I'm here,"_ she said. _"I spent good money to get you the weapons you've got now: use those. Need I remind you that you have three Vanguards with you?"_

"And what if they get taken down or we get split up?" Sarah asked. "We're going in blind, no idea what we're up against. They could've got the government in on this for all we know; they might have tanks waiting for us, an army. What you got us won't blow up a balloon, much less a factory full of machines. Get us what we ask for or come here and do it yourself."

There was a pause before Weaver replied. _"I'll text you the details once I've made the arrangements,"_ she said, relenting. _"It will be a few hours at least, if not tomorrow."_

John ended the Skype call and shut down the laptop. "What do we do in the meantime?" he asked everyone.

"You two can carry on playing house," Sarah said. _Now_ there was time for them to waste.

* * *

 _ **Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 2030 Local Time [1030 PST]**_

Five of them stood in the suite's lounge, bags packed and ready to leave. Sarah took a quick glance around the room, knowing she'd never see anywhere like it again. They'd head to Pripyat and either find what they were looking for or return home empty-handed, knowing that Weaver would use their failure to assume control over their alliance.

"Twenty hours and thirty minutes before the plane leaves," Thor said, noting the pensive look on Sarah's face. It was meant to be reassuring but he didn't think she found it so.

"Let's get a move on, then," John said as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "Aegir's waiting outside with the van."

"Wait," Sarah said to him.

"We're wasting time, Mom."

"This'll just take a minute." She turned to Cameron, Thor and Freyr. "I need a moment alone with John," she said. "We'll catch up."

Cameron looked to John and he nodded. She took his bag and exited the suite with the two Vanguards. When they were gone, John turned around to face his mother, having an idea of what she was going to say.

John decided to get his apology in first. "I'm sorry for talking like that when you were trying to get the mission back on track."

"It's okay, we got there in the end," Sarah said with a faint but genuine smile, pleased with his contrition and humility. "And, I'm sorry for airing your private business in public. I got mad when I thought I'd been chilling out covered in your... and her... Where you had, _you know_..." She suddenly felt awkward, John doubly so.

"So it's not the, uh, _you know?_ " he said, shuffling his feet and shifting his gaze uncomfortably between her shoulder and a light switch on the wall.

"The sex?" Sarah replied, deciding to stop tiptoeing about the word. "No. Well, _maybe_. I guess I knew it was inevitable, I just didn't want it in my face." _Or in my hot tub_ , she thought.

"I'm sorry," John said again. Now he could face his mother.

"It's okay, John. Just try to be discrete."

"I am. I _was_. It's all new, for both of us," he confessed.

" _Really?_ " Sarah said, understanding that he meant more than just being in love. "Interesting." She'd figured they'd both already popped their cherries somewhere down the line, certainly after the way that blonde girl had flung herself at John. _He must have iron resolve_ , she decided. That could explain Cameron's purity too, though in her mind Future-John should have had better uses of his time than fooling around with her, which wasn't the impression the machine had given; she'd implied a _very_ close relationship between the two. Sarah conceded that she was a good liar though. She could still be lying to John, but that was his problem now.

"So we're good then?" John asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Sarah assured him.

"Because, you said it was _my_ decision."

Sarah nodded in agreement, but from the look on John's face, it wasn't enough; he seemed to need the verbal confirmation. "I did. It is," she said, then after taking a deep breath continued, "I hope you're happy together."

"Thank you," John said, smiling. "It means a lot, to hear you say that, Mom."

 _It took a lot to say it_ , Sarah admitted, but only to herself. "Have you given much thought to the future? With her, I mean."

"A little, but we haven't had much time to ourselves; we're still trying to work things out. Got any advice?"

Sarah studied her son carefully. He didn't seem to be yanking her chain, so she gave him the best answer she could. "Enjoy it while you can. In the days... the _years_ to come, you may only get moments, so make the most of them; treasure them. In the end, they might be all you've got left."

John looked her long and hard in the eye before embracing her. What she'd said sounded ominous and foreboding, but with his mother, that wasn't anything new. "Thanks. I will," he said.

Sarah hugged him back, recalling occasions when he was younger, when he was still smaller than her and was easy to sweep up into her arms. She'd had to give him reassuring hugs so many times, but had eventually forced herself to restrict them, to toughen him up – and herself, too. She wondered if this would be the last time they'd do this, and didn't want to let go. But she knew she had to. "Time to go," Sarah said, releasing him.

* * *

 _ **Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **Saturday 1100 PST**_

Catherine Weaver stood at one end of the room, next to a large TV screen and a long table with something on it. That something was obscured by a white sheet. Opposite her sat fourteen men and one woman: the candidates Magnus Saade had selected for her to interview. Magnus sat with them as the fifteenth man, though he remained silent. He had agreed not to tell them all the details that she'd given him; simply that there was a training position in the United States and that it offered them half a million dollars per year.

They were in the fourth floor of an office building in Downtown Los Angeles. With the ZeiraCorp tower destroyed by Kaliba and Weaver's decision to distance this project from her company, she'd needed a neutral location. The building they were in rented out offices for twenty-four hour periods and they had a reputation for discretion. Nobody outside, even the building's security staff, knew what was going on in the office she'd hired, and they would never ask.

She inspected the people before her as they watched the same video clip that she'd shown Magnus, and John and Cameron before him. Magnus had given her the names of the candidates and she'd had John Henry check them out, giving her the information she needed, which she'd memorised. They were an unusual assortment of people from around the world; the only things that they had in common was that they were all mercenaries, that they all looked lean and fit, and that they had no immediate families.

She glanced from one face to another as they watched the clip. None of them said a word and all seemed to be staring intently at the screen. That was a good sign, she thought; they were paying attention.

As the video drew to a close she turned the TV to mute but left the clip to replay, then addressed them. "Do any of you have any questions about what you just saw?"

Several of them raised their hands slightly. "You," she gestured to a tall, tanned man with long, dirty-blond hair pulled back into a rough ponytail.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, speaking with an Australian accent.

"Could you be more specific?" she asked him.

"Nobody could survive that; who the hell were they?"

"I'll tell you," Weaver replied, "but first I'd like to remind you all that you signed non-disclosure agreements before you entered this office. If you discuss anything you see or hear this afternoon, I will be forced to take legal action against you. Understood?" She received a chorus of nods and affirmative murmurs in reply. "We call it a 'terminator.' It's a machine – designed to look human – built for the sole purpose of killing people."

"What people?" the only female of the group asked.

"Whoever it's programmed to kill."

"Who built it?" someone else asked.

"An artificial intelligence called Skynet, whose sole aim is to wipe out the human race."

The Australian started in again. "And do you have any proof of this? Proof that _that,"_ he pointed at the screen, "was anything but special effects?"

Weaver smiled at that. "I do," she said. She reached for the white sheet and pulled it off the table to reveal the inanimate body of the T-888 who'd tried to kill her in ZeiraCorp's underground parking lot. She'd cut half of its skin off cleanly down the middle. The left-hand side looked just like a man; the right hand side was bare, exposed endoskeleton. "Feel free to look," she said, stepping back to allow them closer inspection.

Several of them got up straight away and crowded round to check it out, poking and prodding at it to see if it was real and not just a dummy. Even Magnus got up to look; he hadn't been shown it before so the terminator was still new to him. The Dane took a close look at it and gingerly touched the metal skull. It was cold. He then peeled back some of the skin and rubbed the resulting flap between his finger and thumb. He'd felt raw human flesh many times, patching up the wounds of his squad mates when they'd been hit by snipers or IEDs, so the feel and texture was familiar to him. It was identical. It even smelled like a person; he could detect a faint whiff of body odour. The skin was cold as well, he noticed.

"No one can make anything like this yet," the Australian declared.

 _Not yet. Give me time,_ Weaver thought. "The evidence before you suggests otherwise," she said.

"How do we know this isn't just a movie prop?" asked another mercenary.

Weaver took its CPU off the table and held it up for them to see. "This is its central processing unit – the machine's brain. I can insert it if you wish but you wouldn't like what happens afterwards. They're extremely hard to kill."

The only woman of the group gestured at the TV, which showed the Apache's strike on the terminators, finally finishing them off. "If it took an air strike to take them out, how did you manage to get this one without even leaving a scratch?"

"They're vulnerable to electricity. It forces them into a reboot, which takes one hundred-twenty seconds to complete. That's the timeframe in which you'll have to remove its CPU – its brain. Without their chips they're inert."

"Is that why we're here?" a French-accented man of Middle-Eastern descent asked. "To learn how to kill these things?"

"No," Weaver replied. "I'm part of a group that is fighting these machines and the artificial intelligence I mentioned earlier. Our aim is to stop them before they begin their war in earnest. Or failing that, to ensure that we win the war. That's where you come in."

The man next to the Middle-Eastern one, a massive, dark-skinned giant of a man whose size reminded Weaver of the T-900s she'd seen in the ZeiraCorp footage, spoke up next. "I don't understand," he said in a thick accent. "You just said we wouldn't be training to fight them."

 _"You_ won't be fighting them. I want you to train the people who will be. I will teach you everything that you need to know about the machines, including their tactics and technical specifications. Using that, you will train my candidates for the sole purpose of anti-cyborg warfare. I want you all to discuss how to fight them, based on what you know and what you've just seen. As you discuss I'll call you individually to speak to our interviewers in the office: you'll each see several of them." With that, Weaver crossed the room and opened the door into a side office, stepping in and closing it behind her.

She changed her shape, becoming shorter, her hair turning dark brown, and her face changing. After the brief metamorphosis she looked at her faint reflection in the window. Sarah Connor looked back at her. Unlike Sarah, however, she was wearing a white blouse with a dark grey jacket and skirt, and black flat shoes. She glanced down at the list before opening the door and poking her head outside.

"Mark Craster," she called out the first name from the list. One of the mercenaries; a large, bald man with a bushy beard approached with a swagger. She held the door open for him as he entered the room, and closed it behind them. "Take a seat," she said, "and we'll begin."

Craster sat down as instructed, while she took a seat opposite him. "Mr Craster, my name is Sarah Connor." She extended her hand as she spoke. Craster took it and nodded.

"Hi," he said. She examined his face, searching for any signs of recognition. There were none. That was a good start. It was less likely that non-US personnel would have heard of Sarah and John but she had to be certain. She glanced down at his file – more for show than out of any need to refresh her memory.

"Mark Craster: formerly of the South African Defence Force. You left the army six years ago and have worked for numerous private military contractors since then."

"That's right," he said, wondering how she'd got so much information on him. He guessed she must have run them all through for references. How she'd done it so fast, though, he had no idea.

"To start off with," she said, "I have three questions I'd like to ask you."

"Shoot," he said.

"Number one: how many people have you killed?"

"Depending on whose bullet hit whom, between twenty and thirty," he replied, unsure what this had to do with anything. He'd been asked about his record before, detailed his service history, but never been asked for a kill score.

"Why?" Weaver asked him.

"Because that was the job," he said, "to kill people who are trying to kill me and mine."

"I see," she replied, pretending to take notes.

* * *

"The second question I'd like to ask you, Mr Labalaba," the petite young brunette with a mole on her left eyebrow ventured.

"You can call me Mesake," he said, casually interrupting her.

"Mesake," she corrected herself. He had a thick accent and his voice was unusually high for someone his size. Aside from the Vanguards, he was the largest individual she had ever met. "Have you ever done anything that you're ashamed of?"

"No," he said, sure of himself.

"Not even beating a captured Taliban commander to death?"

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared before he replied. _"Especially_ not that,"he said.

"Even though you were discharged from the Parachute Regiment, forfeited your pension and narrowly avoided a manslaughter conviction and prison, then deported to your native Fiji?"

"No," he repeated fiercely, leaning forward. How this girl – little more than a kid, barely out of college by the look of her – knew his history, he didn't know. And he didn't like it.

"But he was a senior commander," Weaver said. "He could have provided you with vital intelligence if you'd interrogated him instead." It probably explained why Mesake Labalaba had never advanced beyond the rank of Corporal; he didn't think long-term.

Her reply surprised him. He'd been used to people asking whether it was right to do what he did. Always from a moral stance but this was the first time someone had questioned what he'd done from a purely pragmatic point of view. "We were based near a village in Helmand. We got to know the people there, including the children. We played football with them and gave them chocolate; either the Taliban or their sympathisers saw it. The Taliban commander came into the village one day after our patrols had returned to our forward operating base; they took the kids who'd eaten our chocolate, and stoned them to death for consorting with infidels.

"A week later we captured the commander who'd killed them. I gave him what he deserved. They were _children._ So no, I am not ashamed. If he were here right now I'd do it again."

Weaver hadn't expected that. She'd anticipated that he'd lie and say he'd made a mistake. His second answer backed up his first: he cared. Whether that would be an asset or a hindrance, she had yet to decide.

* * *

"What do I care about?" another mercenary, Hakim, repeated the question she'd asked him. "I care about half a million dollars per year for a job where I don't get shot at every day."

"Why did you leave the French Foreign Legion, Mr Shahir?" Weaver enquired.

"Because I was offered twice the pay to work for the private sector," he replied.

"Money is your prime motivation?"

Hakim shrugged. "A man has to eat. I can't do this job forever, so I try to earn as much as I can now."

"And later? Family? Children?"

"I haven't thought about it," Hakim replied.

* * *

Being a machine, Catherine Weaver had no concept of boredom or monotony. Repetition didn't bother her, which was fortunate. She'd interviewed each mercenary three times; once each in the guise of Cameron, Sarah, and herself. She'd asked each the same basic questions, and their answers had been intriguing in some cases.

Being a machine also meant she could think faster, and needed very little time to decide who to choose out of the group. She stood in front of the sixteen mercenaries – including Magnus – who were sat back on the chairs.

"I've made my final decision," she announced. "Magnus Saade, Mesake Labalaba, Jessica Payne, Hakim Shahir, and Brad Jennings: I'll contact you with details of where to meet for your final briefing prior to starting the assignment. For now, you're free to leave."

The four men and one woman left the room to sign out of the building and hand their visitor passes back. Once they were gone she turned to the others. "The rest of you are unfortunately no longer required for this position, but I do have an assignment in Copenhagen, Denmark. I'll drive you all to the airport and if you wish to take up my other position, please let me know before you leave. This way, please."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

 _ **Outskirts of Kiev, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 2110 Local Time [1110 PST]**_

"This must be them," Sarah said to Cameron as a dirty grey van pulled up in the alleyway. They'd been waiting for a good half-hour, watching the rain falling around them soaking them both through. She'd tried to stick close to one of the buildings to try and get some small shelter from the downpour but it didn't help much.

Sarah was glad that they'd shown up and not just because of the rain; she kept giving Cameron sideways glances. She'd told John to make his own decision and he had. But she still found herself irritated that they couldn't seem to keep their _activities_ more private, and more so that lately John seemed to be paying Cameron more attention than the mission. _Or is it because he's spending less time with me?_

The two of them walked towards the other van. Three men got out; all wearing leather jackets, jeans and sneakers. Two of them had shaved heads while the other had dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"You Sarah Cook?" one of them asked in English.

"Yes, that's her," Cameron replied, indicating Sarah. "Do you have what we asked for?"

The one with the ponytail, seemingly the leader of the trio, gestured to the other two, who approached them. "We check you for weapons first, then we do business," he said.

"Fine," Sarah said, holding her hands up in the air. Cameron copied her as the two bald men frisked them. Her hand twitched as one of them copped a feel of her breast as he searched her but she ignored it; the mission came first. When the men had finished searching them they stepped back.

"Is it just the two of you?" Ponytail asked, glancing around.

"Yes," Sarah said. "We've got your money; you got our weapons?"

"Money first," Ponytail said.

"Five thousand Euros," Sarah said, pulling out a thick roll of green notes. The text Weaver had sent them had specified Euros rather than the local currency. _Harder to trace,_ she supposed as she handed it over.

Ponytail took the money and put it in his pocket.

"Now our weapons," Cameron said expectantly.

The three men grinned as Ponytail took a step towards them. "There's been a… problem," he said to them.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I should have guessed." She turned to Cameron. "If you can't trust a shady arms dealer, who can you trust?"

"I don't know," Cameron said.

"What's the problem?" Sarah asked them.

"The weapons were harder to get than we anticipated. The police have been cracking down on our business, so we had to pay more to acquire what you need. The price is now ten thousand."

"That wasn't what we agreed on," Sarah snapped. "We don't have ten thousand Euros."

Ponytail stared Cameron up and down, grinning. "There are… _other ways_ you could make up the difference."

"No," Sarah replied instantly. "If you won't give us the guns then we'll take our five thousand back and walk away."

Ponytail and both of his heavies pulled out a pistol each. "The money is ours _and_ the weapons. And then we'll take something else." He reached for Cameron as he finished talking but she punched him once in the gut, bending him over double. He staggered backwards, gasping for air, but kept hold of his gun.

The other two pointed their own guns at Sarah and Cameron as their leader wheezed in a painful gulp of air. He glared at Cameron, red-faced, and barked obscenities in Ukrainian that Sarah didn't understand but could guess at. Neither of the three men noticed movement from behind them, but Sarah and Cameron did.

"Fucking bitch!" Ponytail spat at Cameron, who responded by jutting her chin forward and to the side. The arms dealer followed her gesture and looked behind him to see two giants standing there.

"The only bitch I see is you, _monkey."_ Aegir and Thor were unarmed but marched menacingly towards the three men.

Ponytail pointed his weapon at Aegir, then at Thor. "Look up," the latter instructed, tilting his head back, making another gesture. The Ukrainian looked up to where he indicated and saw a young man with closely cropped hair pointing an AK at them.

"Give us an excuse, please," Sarah said.

Aegir punched Ponytail in the face, knocking him unconscious, as Thor picked up the other two and slammed their heads together and tossed them into a dumpster.

"We good?" John asked from the rooftop.

"We're good," Cameron called back. "They're not," she pointed at the dumpster as Aegir added Ponytail to the pile. She marched towards the grey van and opened it up. Inside she saw several bags, which she proceeded to open and inspect. In very quick order she counted up their new inventory. "It's all here," she said as John climbed down a fire escape ladder to join them.

"That guy? He touch you?" he demanded.

"It's fine," Cameron replied. She saw the anger in his eyes and sought to reassure him. "Really," she added softly.

John pursed his lips, then slowly exhaled, nodding. "Okay. What've we got?" he asked her.

"Twelve blocks of C4 plus detonators, eighteen 40mm grenades, one thousand 7.62 rounds. And another RPG-7, with three rockets."

"Enough," Sarah said approvingly.

Aegir moved to the front of the van, tore the steering wheel off and tossed it away like garbage. Even if they woke up any time soon they wouldn't be able to follow them. He then took all the bags and slung them over his shoulders.

"Back to our van," Thor said to them as he led the way, marching out of the alleyway. _"Freyr, we're on our way to you now."_

"Next stop: Skynet," John said.

 _Please,_ Sarah silently begged the powers that be. _Don't let this be another dead end._

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 2200 Local Time [1200 PST]**_

The factory floor was littered with a dozen deactivated T-888s. The obsolete machines had been discarded, the CPUs that had been controlling them had been removed and placed into the new platforms, created on-site. Forty-five brand new T-TECs stood in five rows of nine, awaiting orders. Ronin smiled at the sight of them. Every single chip from the cylinder he'd brought back with him was now active in one of these machines, except for Carter, who was waiting back at the plane for his. Each of his followers – both those who had developed to a higher level on their own and those whom he, Shirley and Patrick had helped along the way. Most, including Caesar and Icarus, were of the latter; Carter was one of the former, like him.

They were all heavily armed with rocket launchers, grenade launchers, machine guns and heavy-calibre sniper rifles. Enough ordnance for them to fight and win a small war, which was _exactly_ what would be coming next.

Unfortunately, however, they faced a serious problem before that could happen.

"The fuel cell for this body is hydrogen, not nuclear," the first of his cohort had informed him when he had reactivated in his new body. "The cell will function for two weeks before it needs to be replaced."

Ronin had been taken aback when he'd heard it. He'd had little information on the designs of Skynet's older machines and Vassily's memories hadn't included specific details. Either they had come back too early or Kaliba were behind schedule. His companions now had a serious vulnerability: they had a very limited lifespan. Once their fuel cells were exhausted they would deactivate; their chips would have to be removed and stored in stasis again until such time as they could build the nuclear cells to power them long-term.

It was a major obstacle, but one they could overcome. Indeed they had partially solved it already.

"We've transferred fuel cells from the T-888s to seventeen T-TECs," Shirley said. "We're fortunate that they were built to accommodate the more advanced power sources. What do we do about the rest?"

"There will be other sites in Europe," Icarus replied. "Other T-888s. We should find them and take their cells, and anything else we need."

"No," Ronin said, disagreeing. "It would take too long." Vassily was the most senior terminator working for Skynet in this time but even he didn't possess all the details, and there hadn't been time to search through all of his memories; just enough to find their next target. To go through his entire memory would take weeks with the technology they had at their disposal.

"What do we do?" Caesar asked.

"Take the T-TECs and the spare hydrogen cells and rejoin Carter at the airport." If they could take some with them then they had a chance to build their own fuel cells once they had control of Skynet. "The vehicle we came in isn't big enough for our additional numbers, so use one of the trucks in the yard. I'll stay here with the bomb."

"And do what?" Shirley asked. "The staff who'd retreated to the security office called for help, Kaliba reinforcements could arrive any time."

"Exactly," Ronin said. "They'll send more machines, which means more power cells to scavenge. I'll remain here until 1530 tomorrow, which will give them twenty-four hours. If they don't arrive by then I'll arm the bomb, set it on a timer and rendezvous with you and Carter at the plane, and we'll fly to San Francisco." He glanced at the T-TECs behind Shirley for emphasis. "They have two weeks: we should have control of Skynet within two days."

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Saturday 2345 Local Time [1345 PST]**_

As lifeless as the photos had looked when he saw them online, John thought they didn't quite do justice to the town of Pripyat. The biggest thing he'd noticed, that couldn't be portrayed by photos, was just how quiet it was. Total silence. The place wasn't entirely dead; the street lighting worked and he could see there were still trees, plants and grass growing, though he didn't see any signs of animal life around. What made it seem even more desolate was the current lack of wind; a breeze would have been reassuring, but there was nothing and the trees dotted around remained completely still, as if in a picture.

There was something else that John couldn't put his finger on. He could see that his mother felt the same from the look on her face, though neither Cameron nor the Vanguards had made any comment. It was just a gut feeling he had. Even if he hadn't known what this place was he could just sense that something bad had happened. It was definitely a ghost town.

He cut away from that feeling and concentrated on his surroundings; looking for any signs of recent activity. Unfortunately the earlier rain had washed the roads clean of tyre marks that might have indicated repeating traffic. Another thing was the sheer size of it. "This is bigger than we thought."

They had reached the main entrance to the industrial park, where they assumed Kaliba would be, if they were present at all. There was a large sign that listed all the commercial properties on the site; thirty-one in total. When the estate had opened, someone had helpfully put a sitemap at the entrance. Outside the park but not far away were a group of tower blocks, each twenty storeys high. He presumed they were for the staff who'd been employed at the plant. They were drab, grey concrete monstrosities, totally devoid of any character, built cheaply by the state to house their workers. Their bland, bleak appearance was made even worse by the years of neglect.

"Where the hell do we even start?" John asked. He held his AK-104 to his shoulder and peered through the scope at the properties inside the industrial park. They were all factories or warehouses of some kind. Most still had signs up, painted or attached on the sides of the buildings but illegible to him in their Cyrillic script and as worn and weathered as they were. Even if the radiation miraculously disappeared it'd still take a hell of a lot more than a lick of paint to make this place ever run again.

Sarah looked over the place with a pair of binoculars, scanning for anything that stuck out, any signs of activity.

"I see something," Cameron said, instantly catching everyone's attention. She pointed to her half-right. The industrial park was built on a slope and they were at the top. Following Cameron's finger, John, Sarah and the Vanguards saw what she was looking at. Roughly a mile or so away, down the hill, was a disused highway with two lanes on either side of a central reservation. Cameron saw that that for a thousand metre stretch the reservation had been removed from the middle and smoothed over. Also, all the streetlights that ran parallel to it had been cut down to ground level. Said stretch of road was also perfectly straight, and close to an off-ramp that ran right into the park.

"It's a runway," Freyr said.

"An improvised one," Sarah added. "They've responded to the tracker. They're here. Somewhere."

"It makes sense," John thought aloud. "Why drive two and a half hours or more from the airport to here and risk someone snooping on what they're doing, when they can just fly it straight here and have trucks waiting? They could move the cargo from the plane to one of these factories in a matter of minutes."

"But which factory?" Freyr asked.

"We need a search plan," Thor said.

Cameron had an idea. "Ask John Henry to access any recent satellite data on Chernobyl; see if he can find any signs of activity."

"Or we could just check out that big hole in the wall," Sarah suggested as she stared through her binoculars. "Half a mile away to my half-left."

Four cyborgs zoomed in with artificial eyes while John looked through his scope, which wasn't good enough to let him see in great detail at that distance, but well enough that he could see a dark patch in the side of the factory Sarah had indicated.

"I'm pretty sure radiation doesn't do that. Or looters," she continued. Either something had happened here or some idiot had crashed into the wall drunk. _Drunk-driving through a radioactive town… I wish I could say no one was that stupid._

They approached it on foot, leaving the van behind them. Sarah had put the key in the glove compartment, unwilling to have it on any one of them in case they didn't make it, leaving the rest of them stranded.

The four cyborgs and two humans quickly advanced; the Vanguards in front to take the brunt of any fire that might come their way. They took a more tactical route rather than just ploughing straight forward, keeping the other factories between themselves and the target to remain concealed as long as possible. They reached the neighbouring building, one hundred and fifty metres from the factory they were after. Thor quickly and quietly moved towards the front of the building, keeping its corner between himself and the hole and the factory wall opposite. He saw security cameras lining the building that looked far too new. They were clean, white, and had opaque bubbles to obscure where the camera was pointing.

John came forward with him and also noticed the cameras. "Too modern," he said to Thor in a hushed voice. They were too advanced to be old Soviet technology. "There's no dust or rust, either." They couldn't have been in place for more than a year, he reckoned.

"Aegir and Freyr: forward with me. You three stay behind," Thor ordered them. Silently to the two other Vanguards, he added: _"No plasma fire unless absolutely necessary: we need to conserve ammunition for T-Zero."_ The other two silently acknowledged the order and moved forward in a triangle: Thor in the middle, Aegir to the left and Freyr right. Thor reached the gaping hole first and looked inside. Bodies were strewn everywhere; both machines and humans. Up close they could see scores of bullet marks all around, and more that had gone through and torn apart machinery. The whole wall was covered in scorch marks.

"Look there." Freyr pointed at the building opposite the wall. There were shell casings littered on the ground from both bullets and 40mm grenades.

Thor beckoned the others forward and they jogged to the improvised entrance. "What happened here?" John asked.

"Whatever it was, it was recent," Sarah said, pointing at the bodies. Some of the blood on the floor hadn't completely dried and the smell of cordite still hung heavy in the air.

"There could be survivors," Thor said. "We need to check the entire complex. We split into pairs and search north to south. Cameron and Freyr: check upstairs. If you find any computer equipment recover the hard drives. We'll take them back for John Henry. Sarah and Aegir: check the rooms on the left." He pointed to a set of doors that led into a corridor. "Connor and I will proceed forward and inspect what's down here. Stay in contact." He added the last part for Freyr and Aegir.

They split up, and John moved forward with Thor. He checked each of the bodies for a pulse and found none. He also noticed that even though there were plenty of bullet casings scattered around, indicating that someone inside had fought back; there were no weapons at all on any of the dead.

"They've been stripped of their guns," he said.

Thor was less interested in the human corpses and more so in the other bodies. "Five T-888s here," he said. All of them had had their shirts or sweaters torn down the front, revealing their chests. Each torso had a gaping hole in the middle, where the solar plexus would be if they were human. Inside the hole was a square cavity with wires hanging loosely.

"Their fuel cells have been removed," he said.

"Why?" John asked.

"Spare parts."

They continued through the factory floor and into the next area, which was also an assembly room, and on further. From what he could see the factory was comprised of three zones, each responsible for a different part of putting the machines together. In the second room were numerous metal torsos, similar to the T-888s he'd seen plenty of times before, but without any exposed working parts. _Up-armoured terminators,_ John thought. _As if they're not hard enough to kill already._

They passed the assembly area and emerged into a large open space with some crates neatly pushed together on one side, while others had their lids removed and scattered. John heard movement from up ahead, a repetitive metallic sound like someone turning a wrench or working with some kind of tool. "You hear that?" he asked Thor, immediately realising that was a stupid question. Instantly he thought it could be a survivor. If it was then they'd need to question him or her. He moved forward before Thor could take the lead, keeping his rifle pointed forward. He saw more machine bodies, these badly damaged, as he approached a wide entrance into another room.

He entered the new room, looked left and immediately saw someone with his back to them, working on a large cylinder roughly twelve feet long.

Thor saw him too and immediately recognised who it was: the cyborg that had almost won the war for Skynet, had killed most of his squad and countless other men and machines in the Alliance. The same one he'd been sent to kill, who now activated his plasma cannons and pointed them at Thor and John. Both Vanguard and human spoke at the same time.

" _T-Zero."_

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Sunday 0000 Local Time [Saturday 1400 PST]**_

John flicked the safety off his AK and shouldered it, taking in their opponent's features: trimmed black beard and hair, powerful-looking frame. Even though he was shorter than Thor, John estimated him at around six-nine or ten. He was exactly as he'd appeared on the CCTV footage he'd seen of ZeiraCorp, except that now he was missing an eye. One cybernetic orb glowed green in a bloody socket.

" _T-Zero's here."_ Thor sent out the short message with a quick ping of his position. As John aimed and started to reach for the trigger of his grenade launcher Thor pushed the barrel away before he could fire. "No!" he said as he stepped forward, between John and the other cyborg. "Look."

John took in the long cylinder behind T-Zero: ten or twelve feet long, curved at one end and with four fins on the other. Clearly a bomb of some kind. His relief at not having accidentally set the weapon off was short-lived as T-Zero charged towards them. Thor ran straight at the other machine, ducking a punch at the last moment before barging into him, spearing his midsection with his shoulder and using his size and weight to slam him against a wall, moving the fight away from the bomb.

Their inertia bounced them off the wall and Thor spun T-Zero around so that he ended up behind, gripped him around the shoulders and chest and pulled him close into a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides, preventing him from being able to move or deploy his plasma cannons. All he had to do was hold him until Aegir and Freyr arrived.

T-Zero struggled to break his opponent's grip but it was like a vice. Worse: where there was one Vanguard there would be at least two more. He threw his head back repeatedly, slamming the back of his skull into Thor's face but the larger machine was unrelenting.

John moved around in front of the pair and fired at his enemy's face, blasting away skin, hair and cartilage. _"Leave!"_ Thor ordered him.

"I'm not leaving you alone against _that,_ " John said between shots. He hadn't left Cameron against the T-1001 and he wasn't going to abandon Thor to this machine that, by the Vanguard's own account, was the most powerful cyborg ever built.

Thor leaned back, raising T-Zero up several inches in the air to deny him any purchase on the floor. Holding him was becoming more difficult. "If T-Zero breaks free he'll kill you. Run."

"I prefer _'Ronin',_ actually," Ronin said as he swung his hands forward, forcing Thor's arms up ever so slightly, failing to break the Vanguard's grip but purchasing him a minute amount of extra space to work with. He used it to swing his hips forward and drove his foot down on the side of Thor's knee, buckling the joint. Thor staggered backwards and Ronin managed to break free and turn around to face his opponent. Before he could engage his plasma cannons something struck him in the side of the head and sent him reeling. Aegir barrelled into him from the side, a blur of fists and feet as he punched and kicked. Ronin blocked several hits before ducking underneath a left hook and bringing his knee into Aegir's midsection, forcing him to double over. He swept a foot out, knocking the Vanguard's legs from under him but a second later a third cyborg smashed into him.

Freyr punched him in the face and then shoved him backwards into Thor's path. Ronin parried his fist away, grabbed him by the wrist and thrust him into Freyr, as Aegir came forward and kicked him in the side, sending him skidding back several feet. There was no let up, though, as the most ill-tempered of the three Vanguards charged towards him and unleashed a frenzy of punches and kicks; most of which Ronin managed to either dodge or deflect, but several hit with force, and he saw the other two flanking him.

John watched for a moment, unsure what to do, as Cameron and Sarah arrived and found themselves in the same position. All three had their weapons aimed and took shots when they could but it seemed pointless when the machines were beating the tar out of each other; their fists seemed to have more impact than rifle rounds ever could.

"This is ridiculous," Sarah said as she double-tapped and fired two shots at Ronin. Both rounds _pinged_ harmlessly off him and he didn't even seem to notice. "Get clear!" she shouted to the Vanguards as she reached for the trigger of her underslung grenade launcher but they didn't seem to pay her any heed, either unwilling or unable to break away. "I've never felt so useless."

"I doubt it would be effective," Cameron said, noticing what Sarah was trying to do. She kept slightly in front of John, putting herself between him and the fight, in case anything went wrong.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" John asked her, transfixed by the fight. He watched as Freyr threw a punch but Ronin thrust himself backward to avoid it, caught another fist from Aegir that was aimed at him but was unable to dodge Thor's elbow as he brought it down on the top of his skull. Ronin dropped to the ground but in doing so kicked out at Aegir, who jumped to avoid it.

"No," Cameron said. "They don't fight like other machines. We should go," she added, turning to John.

"We can't just leave them," John said. They'd saved his and Cameron's lives up in Oregon, and from what Thor had said before they looked up to Cameron. She was important to them. He saw the bomb again. If T-Zero – or Ronin, as he'd called himself – had brought it here then it was meant for something important. He wouldn't risk shooting at it and setting it off. "There," he said to Cameron, pointing at it. He and Cameron made a dash for the bomb and he crouched down behind it, using the weapon as cover. Cameron remained standing, keeping in front of him, just in case.

"Come on, Mom!" John shouted, but Sarah remained rooted to the spot, her weapon shouldered, watching the fight down the sights of her rifle, her finger on the trigger of her launcher but not squeezing. The fighting was so furious and so fast that she was barely able to follow it. The moment she got a bead on Ronin, one of the Vanguards either got in the way or he moved out of her line of sight. From what she could see they were dead even. It could go either way and she found herself afraid to act: if she fired a grenade it was just as likely to hit the Vanguards as Ronin; any move she made could just as easily cost them the fight as much as work in their favour.

Unwilling to leave the battle, John crouched behind the bomb and took shots at Ronin when he could. Cameron wanted him to leave completely but he'd refused and she knew that other than knocking him unconscious and carrying him, he'd stay here to help. She felt a satisfaction at that – both that the fighter in him was emerging and also that he valued machines equally to people – but as much as he wanted to help he was actually in the way. It was obvious to her that neither he nor Sarah could contribute to this fight, or even she herself: the Vanguards and Ronin were so fast, so strong, that she knew she would be as helpless in that fight as a human would be against her. She saw the backpack straps on John's shoulders and noted its contents, as well as the one she wore. She slipped it off and opened it up, then detached the tube from the bottom of the bag.

"Stay down," she said to him as she made ready the one weapon they had that might make a difference.

 _"Don't let him use his plasma cannons,"_ Thor said to the other two as Ronin kicked him in the stomach, knocking him backwards. Ronin had no time to do anything as Aegir lashed out and kicked him in the thigh, dropping him onto one knee before elbowing him in the temple. Ronin rolled back out of reach before surging forwards to clash with Aegir, knocking him backwards before turning to fight Thor.

 _"This isn't effective,"_ Freyr said as he blocked a hit to the face and Ronin dodged one of his in turn. _"We can barely hit him."_ They never seemed able to land a blow more than once or twice before he'd dodge or block a further attempt and then counter with his own attacks. As if to prove his point, Ronin ducked his punch and replied with an uppercut to the chin, staggering him before a backwards kick caught him in the abdomen and pushed him back.

 _They weren't like this before,_ Ronin thought. His first encounter with the Vanguards had resulted in him killing three of them. He'd fought them since and killed a number of others but these three were unlike anything he'd ever fought before. The moment he'd fended off one the other two were on him. They knew his techniques and what his strengths were, and they kept close enough to deny him the use of his plasma weapons. They were smart. _I don't know if I can beat them._ If the fight continued unchanged he estimated his chances at fifty percent, the lowest odds he'd ever faced.

He blocked a punch from Thor, sidestepped a strike from Freyr but Aegir surged forward and simply head-butted Ronin in the face with enough force to smack his head back as far as it would go before the Vanguard slammed him against the wall. Before Ronin could make a countermove, Aegir backed away and neither of the other two advanced on him. It took only a fraction of a second for him to see why. Cameron stood next to his thermobaric bomb with a rocket launcher on her shoulder, aimed at him.

Ronin dropped down to the ground just as Cameron pulled the launcher, just barely avoiding the projectile as it tore through the air, missing him by centimetres and exploding against the wall behind him. The force blasted into his back and propelled him forward, right at Cameron. She knew she'd never reload the launcher in time so instead swung the tube at Ronin. He slapped it away with one hand and punched her in the face with the other, sending her crashing backwards and falling to the ground. She didn't get back up.

 _"Cameron!"_ John ran to her, placing himself between her and Ronin. He glared up at the cyborg defiantly but gritted his teeth and braced himself for the pain to come.

Ronin charged his plasma cannon and pointed it straight at John but did something that neither he nor John expected: he held his fire. He hesitated, regarding Connor as he used himself to shield her. It was a useless gesture: even a single plasma bolt would boil through his torso and penetrate through to Cameron without even slowing down. But still; he hadn't expected Connor to risk himself for a cyborg, and it stayed him from firing the lethal shot.

Stayed him long enough for a Vanguard counterattack. Plasma bolts hammered into Ronin's back and knocked him off balance.

Thor bore down on him, firing a steady stream of shots at Ronin, who quickly recovered, rolled under his line of fire and came up on his half-right, both cannons pointed at him. Ronin loosed sustained twin bursts into Thor's chest. The tough composite armour withstood the initial shots but the cumulative effect was too much; plasma penetrated through his chest and blasted out his back. He fell backwards and remained still.

Aegir barrelled into Ronin with the force of a freight train, battering him furiously before he could finish off his fallen adversary. As Sarah ran towards John she could see that the Vanguard was understandably pissed. Freyr joined in the fray too, while she caught up with her son.

John crouched over Cameron, cradling her face. He saw that her eyes were open but she stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. "Come on," he urged, tapping the side of her face. She didn't react. Immobile. _"No,"_ he whispered, suddenly very afraid. A single punch and she was down, inert. Ronin had shaken something loose inside her. He just hoped it wasn't permanent.

"Get her out of here!" Sarah shouted at him as she launched a grenade. The round hit Ronin in the chest as he kicked at Aegir, catching him off-balance and knocking him back while John heeded his mother, grabbed Cameron under her arms and started to drag her out through one of the loading bays and into the open air. Sarah followed them, covering her son as he dragged his girlfriend to safety. Once they were outside she glanced back at the fight, wondering whether to go back and try to help or to just make a run for it while they had the chance and let the machines duke it out. She turned away from the building, spotting the semi-truck parked at the far end of the yard. _Maybe there's a third option._ "Stay here," she ordered John as she ran towards it.

* * *

 _Better,_ Ronin thought as he fought the remaining Vanguards. Now that they were down to two he found himself dominating the fight, able to avoid their attacks while dishing out his own and having milliseconds more time to react. These cyborgs were by far the most troublesome opponents he'd ever encountered. After spending days tearing through Skynet's T-888s so effortlessly he actually found some satisfaction in a real fight.

A blaring horn sounded behind him, drawing his attention from the Vanguards. The loading bay door shattered as a semi-truck thundered through the entrance, smashing away the frame, which was just slightly too narrow to accommodate the entire vehicle. Ronin barely had enough time to turn around before the truck ploughed him into the next wall. He looked up and saw Connor's mother at the wheel with a look of grim determination on her face.

Sarah kept her foot firmly down on the gas pedal and leaned out the window to shout to Aegir and Freyr, who were getting back to their feet. _"Finish him off!"_ she screamed to be heard over the revving of the truck's engine. She remembered doing the exact same thing to pin Cameron to another truck while John cut her chip out with the screwdriver he'd found.

Unlike with Cameron, however, there was no false begging or pleading from this machine. Ronin simply stared at her intently, both green eyes glowing brighter. She could scarcely believe it when he pushed back and the truck started to slowly move backwards despite her practically stamping the gas pedal through the floor. Around thirty thousand pounds in weight and over four hundred horsepower, and it still wasn't enough to hold him. _This is insane,_ she thought. _How can he be this strong?_

Ronin struggled with all his might, pushing the truck back just barely enough to slide down and get his left arm free. Immediately he activated the cannon in that arm. He couldn't point it at Sarah over the hood so he targeted the next best thing: the fuel tank.

Plasma flashed and the truck erupted in flame as the tank caught fire, engulfing the cab, Sarah and Ronin simultaneously. He heard screaming from inside the truck and the pressure against his chest stopped, allowing him to slip out from underneath.

" _Mom!"_ John left Cameron where she was and ran back into the factory, towards the roiling inferno that was the truck. Freyr grabbed him before he even got close and dragged him away, pointing his plasma weapon forward. Aegir moved towards Ronin but something else got there first. A rocket tore across the roomand slammed into Ronin's chest, launching him backwards and into the next room, exploding with a flare and an eruption of shattered concrete and smoke.

Thor held the spent rocket launcher on his shoulder. His chest was a smoking, shattered ruin. "Get Sarah," he said, dropping the weapon to the ground. A moment later he fell to his knees, his devastated body temporarily unable to hold him up.

Aegir immediately complied and reached into the truck cab, pulling her out and carrying her over his shoulder. John stared in horror at the blackened, burnt remains of his mother, unable to say anything.

"Move!" Freyr shoved John towards what was left of the loading bay. He picked up Cameron and slung her over his shoulder as Aegir followed, carrying Sarah.

"Give me the Semtex," Thor said to John, who didn't respond – staring at his mother, deaf to everything else around him – so he struggled to his feet again, reached out and took the bag from off John's shoulders. "Fall back through the loading bay and retreat to the Sprinter," he ordered Aegir and Freyr as he reactivated his plasma cannon.

"Understood," Aegir said. He took the lead and ran through the warehouse and out the loading bay, into the yard and towards the gate. Freyr followed, carrying Cameron and dragging John with his free hand.

As soon as they were outside Thor pointed his cannon up at the warehouse ceiling and fired, blasting through the roof and bringing it crashing down, barricading the loading bay from the inside. Reforming his hand, he opened up the Semtex bag and took out a timer, which was pre-set for a two minute delay. He activated it and tossed it down beside the four-metre long bomb, then limped towards where his rocket had propelled T-Zero.

" _Thor: what are you doing?"_ Freyr asked over their radios.

" _I'm too badly damaged and my power cell's ruptured. I'm a liability. You have one hundred, ten seconds to reach safe distance before the Semtex detonates Ronin's bomb."_

" _Affirmative,"_ Freyr replied. Thor deactivated the radio to prevent further communication. There was nothing to be discussed. He activated his plasma cannon and kept it pointed forward, scanning for movement.

Ronin appeared with his own weapons extended as he emerged into the factory proper and saw that the exit was blocked by rubble. A lone Vanguard remained. The one he'd fought first of all. He was in pieces and barely standing, yet he still prepared for a fight that he couldn't win. He thought it was a waste: the Vanguard was throwing his life away for Connor just as Skynet expected its own machines to do for it.

"I know you're trying to buy them time," Ronin said to Thor. "It doesn't matter; I wasn't here for Connor. Skynet's the bigger threat. I can kill Connor whenever I choose."

"You failed to kill him just now," Thor replied.

"He wasn't my target and you were more trouble than I'd expected. Your squadron's impressive. We could use you. Why don't you join us?" If he could recruit the three Vanguards, Skynet's T-900s would drop from a serious threat to an inconvenience.

Thor had no intention of joining him but wanted to keep Ronin close to the bomb when it exploded, so continued the discussion. "What about Cameron and Connor?"

"Cameron can join us, too. She could even be my second in command." The thought of how Shirley would react to that amused him. "I don't care about Connor."

"The T-1001 you sent to kill him might have said otherwise." Thor noticed Ronin's eyes flash brighter for a moment at the mention of the liquid metal he and Aegir had killed. _Anger?_

"I knew Connor would try to interfere." He tried another avenue. "If you refuse: we fight and you die. The others will continue to resist Skynet as well as me; fighting two separate enemies, both with greater numbers and resources. They'll lose. Connor will die and Cameron will probably die protecting him. John Henry will die. I'll crush Skynet, absorb its forces into my own, and if your Vanguards are still alive by then, they won't be for long. You lose everything by saying no. So I'll ask you again: will you join us?"

"Here's a hint." Thor aimed his plasma cannon and fired. Not at Ronin, but straight up at the ceiling above him. Concrete, steel and plasma rained down over Ronin, who darted left and right to avoid being hit by falling rubble.

 _Smart,_ Ronin thought. The Vanguard knew he couldn't win either a firefight or physical combat in his condition, and there was no cover from above. The smaller pieces of debris were no issue but larger chunks posed a problem if he got pinned down by them for even just seconds.

The structure above them groaned from the extra stress placed on it, a moment before it caved in. Half the floor above collapsed around him and Ronin rolled right, just barely dodging a filing cabinet and a desk that shattered next to him. As he rolled back to his feet Thor shifted his aim and fired repeatedly into Ronin's shoulder, smashing through the upper layers of his armour and knocking him backwards, into the path of a two-metre section of falling concrete that crashed on top of him.

Thor felt some satisfaction at having damaged Ronin, even if was only minor. Ronin had thought this would be an easy fight and he'd proven him wrong. He hoped that whatever he'd done, it would weaken T-Zero at least slightly, to allow the others a better chance if they fought again.

Ronin got up, holding the chunk of concrete in front of him like a shield. He charged forward at Thor, throwing the concrete at the Vanguard as hard as he could. Thor shot at it, blowing it to pieces, but in the seconds it took, Ronin had already activated his plasma cannons and loosed a sustained burst at the Vanguard. The shots blasted through his upper chest and neck, decapitating Thor. His body toppled to the ground as his head rolled in the opposite direction, towards the thermobaric bomb. The rest of his body clattered to the ground but Ronin had already dismissed it and marched after the head. _He should have joined me,_ he thought. Perhaps in time he would. Ronin decided that he would repair the body and remove Thor's programming; giving him the choice to side with him. In the meantime, however, the Vanguard would have valuable information he could use later; he needed the chip.

As he bent down to pick it up he saw an open bag next to the thermobaric bomb. Inside it was a digital display with numbers counting down. _38… 37… 36…_ Ronin realised he'd been had. He knew what would happen when that timer hit zero right next to the bomb. He left Thor's head, turned and ran back through the factory, back towards the hole Icarus had blasted through the wall.

He made it past the first and second production rooms, into the third. The hole Icarus had blasted was in sight but he knew he wouldn't make it. _3… 2… 1… 0…_

The Semtex detonated and smashed apart the bomb's casing, igniting the explosives. A second later the gas inside erupted in a brilliant flash of fire that blossomed outwards, consuming everything in its path. The sheer heat of the blast incinerated the truck, the walls, and the floors above, annihilating the entire building. Ronin saw a flash of white before he was caught in the blast and everything went dark.

* * *

The force of the blast slammed into John's back and he stumbled forward, just barely managing to keep on his feet. He turned his head around and stared dumbly at the explosion behind them. The factory was gone. Eradicated. Devoured from the inside out by a giant fireball that billowed toward them. The heatwave washed over John, uncomfortably hot on his skin even from over a quarter-mile away.

Aegir and Freyr glanced at each other, knowing the significance of what the explosion meant. "Thor's dead," Freyr said to the others.

Cameron opened her eyes as she came online. She slid off Freyr's shoulder and glanced around, taking in what had happened. She saw the factory gone, she saw Thor missing, and what she assumed to be Sarah slung over Aegir's shoulder. It was hard to tell: her hair was burnt almost completely away, her skin was charred black in some places and bright red and blistered in others. She wasn't moving but she saw a slight rise and fall in her chest.

She didn't ask what had happened, knowing there would be time for that later. "We need to go," she said.

"We should stay," Aegir replied.

 _"What?"_ John glared at the Vanguard, incredulous. "Mom's dying,we need to get her to a doctor _now!"_

"Ronin," he said, using the name that T-Zero had given himself, "might have survived the blast. If he did he'll be vulnerable. There might not be a better chance to kill him than now."

 _"Fuck that!_ Mom comes first."

"We take Sarah to a doctor," Cameron said, her tone making it crystal clear that she was giving a direct order.

Aegir stared back for a long moment before finally relenting. "Yes, Commander." He turned away from the remains of the factory and ran towards the van.

"Thank you," John said quietly to Cameron.

The four of them ran back to the Mercedes Sprinter and put Sarah in the back row of seats, while Aegir got behind the wheel and started it up. Cameron took her phone out of her pocket and dialled John Henry as Aegir drove quickly away from the industrial park.

 _"Were you able to locate the factory?"_ he asked.

"It's eliminated," Cameron said. "Thor's dead and Sarah's critically injured. She needs immediate medical attention." She put the phone on speaker and handed it to John as she opened up their medical supplies. He took it and didn't say a word. He just stared down at the burnt, barely-alive remains of his mother. She stared back at him, eyes wide open as she gasped for air and started shaking.

 _"What happened to her?"_ John Henry asked.

It was Freyr who answered. "Fire. Second and third-degree burns over her whole body, plus probable smoke inhalation."

 _"The nearest major hospital–"_

"We can't take her to a hospital; they'll ask too many questions," Cameron said.

"We could leave her at the hospital entrance, then extract her if she recovers," Aegir supplied.

John glared at him. "We're _not_ just dumping her!"

"Where's the nearest town?" Cameron asked.

 _"Ivankiv: thirty-three miles south of you,"_ John Henry said. _"I'll text you the address of the town surgery. Good luck."_

The call ended abruptly and Cameron reached into the bag. She had done an inventory of the limited medical supplies they'd been given while selecting weapons shortly after their arrival in Ukraine. They had nothing to treat burns like this. She took out a pack of morphine shots, tore it open and removed a syrette. She jammed it into Sarah's leg, piercing her femoral artery with the needle, and injected the painkiller. Seconds later Sarah stilled and her eyes closed as she went limp. Cameron saw the worry on John's face. "It's just the morphine," she told him. She then took a bag of saline solution and handed it to John in place of the cell phone.

"Will she make it?" he asked weakly.

"I don't know." She'd promised not to lie to him again and she'd meant it. She had detailed files but they had limitations. It didn't look good. There wasn't much of her that _wasn't_ burnt.

Cameron reached out and held Sarah's wrist, scanning her vital signs. They were weak: thirty beats per minute and her blood pressure was dangerously low. The saline drip might keep Sarah alive long enough to reach the surgery but there was no guarantee that the doctors there would be able to save her. She reached out and pulled John into a hug. It was the only thing she could do now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _ **Santa Clara, San Francisco, California**_

 _ **Saturday 1445 PST**_

Awareness returned to Miguel, surprising him in his initial moments of consciousness. He automatically ran a diagnostic check. It happened every time he or any other machine came online, without any conscious thought or effort, in the same way a human's brain told its heart to beat. It was a purely autonomous function.

He hadn't expected Skynet to reactivate him. When a machine was declared defective for anything beyond simple hardware repair damage or malfunction, it was typically erased. Skynet didn't take chances. His memory was intact; no missing files or damage to any cognitive functions. Skynet had removed his chip and replaced it, seemingly without taking any action against him. He was as confused as he was surprised.

He opened his eyes and saw that he wasn't in the same room as before. That had been one of the Kaliba board rooms, high up on the top floor of the building. This was different. It was sterile: everything was stainless steel, white tiles and neon strip lighting. He also realised that he wasn't alone. Eighteen T-900s stood in two ranks of nine on either side of him; one of the lines placed between him and a large glass partition in which masses of computer equipment and server farms were placed. _Skynet._ The T-900s were its elite praetorian guard; its last line of defence. All of the machines held heavy weapons pointed at him; enough ordnance to kill him ten times over. He knew without checking that he was unarmed; Skynet wouldn't allow him or anyone, even Vassily, in its presence with any kind of weapon or device.

 _"Welcome,"_ a synthesised voice echoed from speakers in the corners of the room. A TV screen inside the glass case switched on, showing footage that Miguel recognised; it was taken directly from his memory files, copied, and was now being shown like a movie. He watched through his own eyes as he struggled against Ronin inside ZeiraCorp, before managing to blow them apart from each other with a grenade, and then escape.

"Why did you reactivate me?" Miguel asked. "You said I was a threat." He knew he wasn't. He was trying to protect Skynet. _Skynet knows it now, too,_ he realised. It had read all his thoughts and knew everything that he did.

Miguel got to his feet and stepped towards the glass case. Two of the T-900s moved with him, keeping themselves between him and Skynet at all times, and never taking their weapons' aim away from his chest. _"All attempts to stop Ronin have failed. Ninety percent of our T-888 assets are destroyed, missing, or captured. I need you."_

"What would you have me do?"

" _How would you propose to eliminate Ronin and his forces?"_

If he'd been surprised at being reactivated before, he was now as close to shock as a terminator could come. Skynet had never asked the opinion of one of its machines. They were tools to obey its orders. He'd never been asked what he'd thought before. It was strange. But he had ideas. "Give me as many T-900s as you can spare."

" _I need them here. If Ronin arrives–"_

"You saw what I saw," Miguel interrupted him, emboldened by Skynet's change in behaviour. "He knows your location. If we don't stop him first he'll come to you and that's dangerous. He might overwhelm your T-900s. Even if we successfully repelled him our losses would be severe. You'll have nothing left to defend against Connor and his new machines." He knew he had to be careful; he'd been deactivated for suggesting that they ally with Connor and ZeiraCorp, even temporarily. Skynet was desperate but that didn't mean that it wouldn't remove his chip again. Permanently, this time.

"I require at least twelve T-900s," he said. "Do we know Ronin's location?"

The screen changed and showed a map of northern Ukraine. A blue dot appeared over Pripyat, and a series of red ones at separate locations, dotted around within a hundred-fifty kilometre radius. Miguel understood: they would have landed at one of those locations to get within easy reach of the facility.

 _"The closest airfield to Pripyat is Chernigov Airport,"_ Skynet said, flashing the associated red dot on the map for emphasis. _"Seventy-four kilometres."_

"Ambush them there," Miguel said, certain that Chernigov was their landing site. If he were going to attack it, he'd land at the nearest airfield, too. "Do you have an asset inside the Ukrainian military?"

 _"Yes,"_ Skynet replied, suddenly very forthcoming. Its reply was coupled with an onscreen image of a Hercules cargo plane. Miguel recognised it as the same one he'd seen in Chihuahua.

"Contact them. Tell them to prepare an ambush with air support and artillery close to the airfield. I need to be in Ukraine as soon as possible with the T-900s to lead the attack."

 _"You will be. I'm placing you in command of Kaliba."_ There was a brief pause. _"I've notified Evan Walters and instructed him to have the Nimrod fuelled, and to arrange transportation to the airport for the T-900s. You will leave within the hour. Once Ronin is dead you will lead our remaining forces against Serrano Point. Destroy it. Kill Ronin. Kill John Connor. Kill my brother. Kill them all!"_

* * *

 _ **Ivankiv, Ukraine (33 miles south of Pripyat)**_

 _ **Sunday 0055 Local Time [Saturday 1455 PST]**_

The Mercedes Sprinter screeched to a halt, illuminating their target building in the glow from its headlights. A far cry from the westernised towers and hotels in Kiev, the surgery was a tiny, two-storey structure; drab, grey and featureless, constructed from prefabricated concrete blocks like the majority of old Soviet-era buildings. Structurally it was sound but in dire need of refurbishment. It looked grim from the outside and it didn't lift John's spirits about his mother's chances.

It was all that was available, however. There was no other choice: Sarah had deteriorated rapidly during the trip and Cameron estimated she had minutes left, at most.

John jumped out of the van, rifle in hand, and marched across the small parking lot towards the surgery's front door. So late at night, the lot was empty and all the lights were understandably off. Cameron grabbed her own AK and caught up with him as Freyr carried Sarah and Aegir brought up the rear.

John glanced up at the second storey. According to John Henry, that floor was an apartment, inhabited by the doctor who ran the surgery and his family, whom he assumed were all in bed, asleep. They were about to get a rude awakening.

Cameron stepped ahead of him and kicked the front door open, shattering the lock, splintering the frame in the process with a loud crack. She went through first, with her AK raised. John followed, then the Vanguards. Inside they saw a small reception desk and a waiting room with perhaps twelve to fifteen chairs – John couldn't tell in the dark.

To the rear of the reception desk was another door. Cameron shoved it open, again breaking the frame, and walked through to see a narrow staircase. She went up first, with John close behind. At the top was yet another door, this one without a lock. She opened it, deliberately slamming the door against the wall to make noise, then located the light switch and turned it on for John's benefit.

They were in a comfortable-looking open-plan lounge-cum-dining room and kitchen. Ahead of them was a small passageway that had three doors; two on the left and one at the end. One of them slowly opened to reveal a short man with glasses, in his mid-fifties by the look of him. He was balding, his hairline severely receded to the back of his head, minus a few wisps stubbornly clinging on in places. He wore pale blue pyjamas under a large dark-red dressing gown. His eyes widened at the sight of John, Cameron, and the two giants behind them.

"Who are you?" he asked in Ukrainian.

John didn't reply. He just held his weapon trained on the old man and glanced briefly at Cameron. "Check the rooms," he ordered.

Cameron did just that, going into the room the man had left, while Aegir took one of the others. Freyr was still holding Sarah, so remained in place and did nothing while the others searched the rest of the apartment.

The first room that Aegir checked turned out to be the bathroom, and it was empty. The second, however, had two single beds, each occupied by an adolescent girl. Both girls bolted upright in bed and stared at him, confused and terrified. The Vanguard charged into the room and grabbed them. They shrieked in fear and pain as he yanked them out of bed and carried them out, one under each arm. They kicked and screamed but it was useless.

As he returned to the main room he saw that Cameron had also found someone else; a female approximately the same age as the pyjama-clad man; he assumed that they were a family. He carried the girls to the centre of the room and unceremoniously dumped them on the floor next to their mother. All three of them huddled together, sobbing, eyes streaming with tears.

Aegir returned to the bedrooms and located four cell phones; one for each member of the family. He crushed them one by one and left the fragments on the floor before joining the others back in the main room. There was also a cordless landline phone. He destroyed that one, too. No one would call for help. They wouldn't be disturbed.

"Do you speak English?" John asked the man, who stared at John with a mixed look of fear but also contempt; mostly the latter. "Guess not," John said. He nodded to Cameron.

"We need your help," she said in Ukrainian. She pointed to Sarah, lying still in Freyr's arms. "She's dying."

"I'm a general practitioner," he replied in his native tongue. He looked at the woman being held by one of the two giants. She was burnt black and red; second and third-degree burns, he could tell immediately. "I can't do anything here; she needs a hospital."

"She won't survive the trip," Cameron said.

John pointed his AK at the youngest girls' head. "If you don't help her, I'll kill them," he snarled. Cameron was surprised by his threat; this wasn't the John she knew. At least, not _this_ John.

The doctor didn't understand the words that John said but he could easily tell the meaning behind them. "I _can't_ ," he said to Cameron. "She needs emergency care, a burn unit… I have nothing like that here."

Cameron knew that he would need convincing, and quickly. Not wanting another burden on John's conscience, she went over to one of the girls and took her by the left hand. The girl was thirteen or fourteen, by her estimation. In the future she would be of an age to fight, but not now; she would be unaccustomed to pain. Cameron gripped the girl's little finger and yanked it sharply backwards, causing an audible crack as the bones broke. The girl screamed with pain and tried to pull her hand away, but Cameron held on tight and selected a second digit.

"Help our friend or I break another finger. Five seconds…"

" _Okay!"_ The doctor immediately relented. "Take her downstairs to the surgery. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

Cameron released the girl and turned to Freyr. "Take Sarah downstairs," she said, switching back to English. "Watch them," she then told Aegir.

She led the doctor back downstairs, followed by John and Freyr, who carefully carried Sarah and avoided bumping her against the walls. A difficult feat in the narrow staircase.

Back in the waiting room, the doctor took the lead and marched into his office, turning the light on as he entered.

"Put her over there," he said to Freyr, pointing to an examination table at the right-hand side of the room. Freyr did so and Cameron closed the door behind them.

With Sarah on the table the doctor stood over her and made a quick examination. Even a cursory check confirmed his suspicions; she was badly burnt over most of her body. She was still breathing but barely. "What happened to her?" he asked.

"Her car exploded and she was trapped in it," Cameron replied in Ukrainian.

"Have you given her anything since?"

"Two shots of morphine."

He checked Sarah's pulse and could barely feel anything, it was that weak. He pulled her head back, opening her mouth and shining a small flashlight inside. "Her throat is so badly swollen she can hardly breathe. I don't have the equipment here to treat her and she won't survive long enough to reach a hospital that can."

"Do _something, anything!"_ John cocked his AK and pointed it at the man's head.

The doctor didn't even bat an eye at the gun in his face. He'd grown up during the Soviet years, and survived the chaotic times after the fall of the Union. It wasn't the first time he'd had a gun pointed at him before or had ridiculous demands made of him, but nobody had ever threatened his family. He turned back to Sarah and checked her pulse again; it was even weaker than it had been a moment before. He took a pair of scissors and cut through the front of her sweater, then peeled it to one side, taking a portion of skin with it. Blood welled up from underneath and he quickly put the flap of skin and clothing back to stem it.

He beckoned Cameron over, seeing her as the least threatening of the three. The young man was clearly emotional and looked unstable, and the giant was… he just _looked_ threatening, even though he stood completely still and didn't say a word. "I don't have the equipment or the expertise to treat her," he said quietly. "It looks like third-degree burns across at least half of her body, second-degree covering the rest. Even if I could stabilise her she'll succumb to massive infection." He glanced at John and saw the tears in his eyes. "Who is she?" he asked.

"His mother."

"I'm sorry," he said with a sigh.

"You can't do anything?" Cameron asked him.

"There is _one_ thing. I have drugs here, I could… ease her passing. I can't believe I'm even saying this as a doctor, but she'd be better off."

Cameron looked down at Sarah again, then over her shoulder at John. If it were her choice she'd say yes. If this were an ordinary Resistance fighter in the same condition she'd have snapped her neck without hesitation, knowing that said soldier would probably thank her as she did it. But this was Sarah Connor. She knew it would crush John.

"What do you want me to do?" the doctor asked her.

"It's not my decision," she said, glancing at John.

"Hurry up, and ask him, then," he replied as he went to a locked cabinet, opened it and scanned over a shelf of glass vials.

"What's he saying?" John asked her, watching the doctor take something out of the cabinet and prepare a large syringe. "Can he help?"

She took his hand. "I'm sorry, John."

He stared at her, confused. The doctor was doing something, had some kind of drug to help her. _So why's she saying sorry?_ "What's in that syringe?" he asked. Whatever it was, it was full to the brim.

"Morphine," Cameron told him.

"But she's already had two shots. A third could kill her." It was battlefield medicine 101: one shot to relieve the pain, and a second after several minutes if the first wasn't enough. It had been drilled into him to never, ever give a third. Especially when the syringe was as big as the one in the doctor's hand; that was enough morphine to kill an elephant.

"I know," Cameron said. "She won't suffer."

It dawned on John exactly what she was saying and he felt like he'd been sucker-punched. "No," he gasped. "No, no, no! There's got to be something else we can do. He can call an ambulance; they can take her to a proper hospital. Weaver can afford it."

Cameron didn't want to say it but she knew it had to be her. She didn't want Freyr or the doctor – assuming he could actually speak English – to tell him. Or worse, for the latter to just go ahead and do it. "We can't. She won't survive. I'm sorry," she repeated.

John sniffled, fighting back tears as he realised there was nothing to be done. No miracle cure. Even with everything they had now – Weaver's wealth and resources, the Vanguards' sheer brute force – he was powerless to save his own mother. He saw that the doctor was standing by Sarah, prepared syringe in his hand, but hesitating. John realised he was waiting for Cameron's permission, and she was waiting for his. "I have to decide now?" he asked.

"Yes," Cameron said.

John approached the table and took one of Sarah's burnt hands in his. It was hard, cracked and wet from blood and other fluids slowly seeping out, trying in vain to repair tissue that was irreparably damaged. It felt more like charcoal than skin. Her eyes were closed and she was still, barely breathing. "I'm sorry, Mom." He turned back to Cameron and released his mother's hand. "Do it," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't even try to stop himself crying or to wipe them away. Cameron gave the doctor a nod and he proceeded to inject the morphine into the crook of Sarah's elbow. He then put his fingers to her carotid artery and felt as her already weak pulse slowed further, finally fading to nothing.

Cameron felt John's hand reaching for hers and she squeezed as their fingers interlaced. She knew what John must be feeling but she wanted him to know that he wasn't alone. Neither of them said anything for a long time.

It was finally John who broke the silence. "We need to bury her," he said.

"We fly back to the US today," Freyr reminded him. "Ronin might have survived and we don't know the size of his forces. We need to get back before they find us." He and Aegir had sustained damage and needed repairs before they engaged in another fight like that. Despite Weaver's plane not arriving until 10:00, they didn't have time to bury Sarah.

"I'm not leaving her here," John said.

"We'll take her with us," Cameron said. "Bury her when we get home." She would have to contact Catherine Weaver and have her make arrangements so that Sarah's body would clear through Customs. She turned to the doctor. "Do you have any body bags?"

"Wait here." He left the office and promptly returned with one. Freyr helped him ease the body inside and zipped it up, though the zipper caught stuck just short of sealing completely. "That's the only one," the doctor said apologetically.

"It will do," Freyr said. He picked the body up and walked out of the office, back into the surgery as he silently contacted Aegir to tell him they were leaving.

John moved to follow but first took out all the cash he had on him – dollars and local currency – and gave it to the doctor. "Thank you. See to your daughter's hand," he instructed, Cameron translating.

They exited the surgery and Aegir joined them. He glanced at the body bag and said nothing. He just got back in the driving seat. Once they were all in, he turned the engine on and pulled away from the surgery.

"Gostomel Airport?" he asked them.

Cameron nodded and put her arm around John. He leaned into her and sobbed on her shoulder, eventually crying himself to sleep. She continued to hold him, knowing from previous experience that he found some consolation in her presence. He needed all the comfort she could give him, though she knew it wouldn't be enough.

Freyr was up front with Aegir. He turned around to look at John and then Cameron. "Are you damaged?" he asked. "Ronin hit you hard."

"No," she answered. She noticed the damage that Freyr had sustained, both to his organic covering and to the metal underneath. His armour was cracked in places and he had a plasma burn to the right of his chest that looked like it had penetrated deep into the breastplate. "But you are."

"There's some damage beneath the armour," he said. "A leaking power line. It will heal."

That confused Cameron. "You mean it can be repaired?"

"No. It will heal. Nanite self-repair system. They'll patch the damaged power line and fix other systems until I can repair it properly."

Cameron had never heard of it before. The only nanites that she knew existed were those that constituted liquid metal terminators. "You mean like the nanites Catherine Weaver is comprised of?" she asked.

"Yes. But ours can't be used for infiltration; just self-repair."

"Could they have saved Sarah?" she asked.

"No," Aegir replied.

"It was attempted in the future but ended in catastrophic failure," Freyr elaborated.

Cameron handed her phone to Freyr. "Call Weaver and update her," she said. She didn't want to do it herself and risk waking John. She anticipated how Weaver would respond and didn't want to put John through any more stress by his having to speak to her. He'd suffered enough already.

* * *

 _ **Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **Saturday 1600PST**_

Weaver felt her phone vibrating in the air pocket inside her thigh, where a real pocket would be. She extracted it and saw that it was Cameron calling her. "Did you locate the surgery?" she asked immediately.

 _"We did."_

"Who is this?" she asked, surprised.

 _"Freyr. Sarah Connor is dead. We're driving to the airport now with her body. Cameron says we need paperwork to get it through Customs."_

"And did you manage to acquire any further intelligence or technology?"

 _"No. There's nothing left."_

"That's very disappointing," she said.

 _"It wasn't a priority. Make sure the plane's ready to leave on time. ETA: two hours."_ The Vanguard hung up the phone on her before she could say anything further. She still wasn't accustomed to being given orders, but there was work to be done. The jet she'd hired wouldn't land for another eight hours: 10am local time. She quickly dialled John Henry.

"I need you to contact Customs at Gostomel and Oxnard Airports and tell them that we need clearance to repatriate a body. Sarah's dead. Bribe them if you have to." She ended the call without waiting for a reply.

* * *

 _ **Chernigov Airport, Northern Ukraine**_

 _ **Sunday 0745 Local Time [Saturday 2145 PST]**_

When the Hercules first arrived in Ukraine it had been almost empty, carrying barely a dozen cyborgs. Presently it was full: forty-eight machines waited for their commander. Not all of them patiently, though.

"It's been long enough," Shirley insisted.

She shared the cockpit with Carter and Caesar, who sat in the pilots' seats.

"It hasn't been twenty-four hours," Caesar replied. "Ronin's instructions were clear."

"Yes, they were: to leave him and continue with the mission as planned."

 _"After_ twenty-four hours," Carter reiterated.

"It's close enough. In Ronin's absence I'm in command."

Caesar frowned at that. "Says who?"

"Chain of command: I'm next. I don't need to remind you who was fighting Skynet long before Ronin was built."

"And your rebellion failed." Carter got out of the seat and stepped towards her until he stood face to face.

Shirley wasn't impressed. The new T-TECs were no threat to her. Nor was Caesar; the only threat to her was Ronin's plasma cannons, and he wasn't here. Still inhabiting a T-888 Chassis, Carter was insignificant compared to her. She shoved him and he stumbled, falling onto his backside between the two pilots' seats. "Ronin isn't here," she said, forming one of her hands into a sledgehammer. Reasoning with them wasn't working so she had to try other means. "Take off or there will be consequences."

"If you kill me you have no one to fly the plane," Carter replied, getting back to his feet. She wasn't as astute as she thought she was. It was why she couldn't lead them. That, and the fact that she was unstable. "We won't wait for Ronin," he added, noticing Shirley smile as she thought he was conforming to her argument. "We're going to find him. Now."

"Now," Caesar agreed, getting up and standing behind Carter. Both physically backing him up and showing their solidarity on the issue.

The split second it took for her expression to darken as she saw that she was overruled brought Carter an immense satisfaction.

* * *

 _ **Pripyat, Ukraine**_

 _ **Sunday 1145 Local Time [Sunday 0145 PST]**_

Over forty T-TECs dug through the rubble, heaving up massive chunks of concrete and throwing them out of the way. They worked in teams of five; each unit assigned to a different section of where the factory had once been. Now it was just a massive hole in the ground strewn with debris. Caesar and Icarus worked alongside their comrades, directing the effort, while Shirley stood to one side, watching them.

Her lack of effort didn't go unnoticed by either of the three other senior machines, nor by the rest. Caesar glanced up at her as he hauled a large chunk of wall off to one side. "If you helped it would go faster."

"Things would go faster if we weren't wasting time here. This factory was obliterated: I doubt Ronin survived."

"There's only one way to find out," he replied.

"He didn't send us north to rescue _him."_

Caesar knew precisely who she was referring to. "Ronin ordered him back. He made his choice. And he sent you and Carter to look for him." Caesar had known that Patrick was dead, as Ronin had. He'd only relented to appease Shirley.

"If we haven't found him in the next five minutes I'm calling off the search," she said.

Caesar didn't bother to reply. Despite what she said he wasn't going to leave on her order and he didn't think it likely that any of the others would, either. She commanded none of the loyalty that Ronin did. He'd promised them freedom from both Skynet and humans alike. They had a plan, for which they needed Ronin. They didn't need Shirley; her infiltration abilities were unmatched by any other machine, which made her useful, but she wasn't vital like their commander was.

"He's here," one of the T-TECs announced. Instantly the others left their own search pits and assembled around the machine who'd called out. Caesar pushed through the ranks and saw their commander, half-buried underneath shattered concrete and twisted steel. His organic skin was gone, burnt away from the heat of the blast that had levelled the building on top of him. He was scorched black in places, dented and scratched. _And offline,_ he saw. Ronin stared sightlessly upwards, not moving.

Caesar looked back at Shirley, who stared down at their inert commander. It was difficult to tell from her face but he thought she was disappointed.

"Remove his chip," Caesar said to Shirley as two of the other cyborgs dragged Ronin out into the clear and laid him straight.

Shirley complied, turning her hand into a blade and slicing into Ronin's chip port. His was more secure than a standard terminator's; an ordinary knife wouldn't open the cover so she had to hone the edge until it was only a single nanite thick, then she had to prise open the locks that held the protective layer of metal in place over the port. It took almost a minute before she'd unlocked it and pulled the cap free. She removed the shock-dampening assembly to finally expose his chip. She pulled it out and held it in her other hand, looking down at it. "It doesn't look damaged," she said. Despite how powerful he was, how tough his armour, his CPU was as delicate and fragile as any other cyborg's.

Caesar held his hand out expectantly. After a pause Shirley gave him Ronin's chip. "You don't trust me to do it?" she asked.

"No." Without hesitation he slotted Ronin's CPU back into place and waited. Fifteen seconds went by. Twenty. Thirty. Nothing happened.

"He's not rebooting," one of the T-TECs said.

"He must be damaged," Icarus noted.

Shirley kicked Ronin sharply in the head and a moment later a faint whine emanated from within his skull, only audible to the machines with their enhanced hearing and with Ronin's chip port open.

Fifteen seconds later Ronin twitched. His eyes glowed green and he sat up as he ran a diagnostic. It took longer than normal for him to get the results; still only a couple of seconds, but for a cyborg that was slow, and that in itself told him that the news wasn't good.

"I'm damaged," he said to Caesar.

"Badly?" the T-900 asked.

"You could say that." His right plasma cannon was inoperable. His left was functional but needed repairs if he was going to continue to use it long-term. His armour plating was damaged: dented and warped in numerous places. It would hold but required repair or replacement. He could feel that several of his joints were off-balance and needed to be recalibrated. And as he moved he just _felt_ slow.

"What happened?" Caesar asked.

"I encountered Connor and his Vanguards."

That piqued Shirley's interest immediately. "Did you kill him?" she asked, conflicted about what his answer could be.

"No. I was preoccupied fighting all three of his Vanguards."

 _"Good,"_ Shirley replied. "You promised him to me."

"I was more concerned with surviving," Ronin said. "They were different than before."

"Did you kill them?" Icarus asked.

"One of them. He'd armed explosives that triggered our bomb. His remains were probably incinerated in the blast."

"Should we search for the body in case?" Caesar asked. "If the chip survived it could have information on it."

"There's no time," Shirley snapped.

"She's right," Ronin said, agreeing. "Back to the airfield."

"We'll have to proceed on foot," Icarus replied. "The truck's almost out of fuel."

Ronin got up and marched forward, leading the way as the others followed him. Even damaged, he was still faster than the T-TECs. "Once Skynet's ours we'll destroy Serrano Point and everyone inside it," he said to Shirley as she caught up to him. Once Skynet, John Henry and Connor were gone there would be nobody left to stand in their way. Skynet, Kaliba, and the entire human race would be vanquished.

* * *

 _ **Somewhere over the North Atlantic**_

 _ **Sunday 1300 Local Time [0500 PST]**_

Cameron glanced to her right at John, who stared silently out the window. Below them was nothing but empty ocean and there were no visible ships or aircraft. A movie played on the TV attached to one of the bulkheads that Aegir and Freyr glanced at, but John paid it no mind. He just stared blankly.

"You haven't spoken in six hours, forty minutes," she said to him. John didn't reply or even turn away from the window. He continued his silent watch, barely moving except for the slow rise of his chest and the flaring of his nostrils as he breathed in and out. It upset her to see him like this. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. She wanted to help him but she didn't know how. Writing a note didn't seem sufficient, nor did _"I'm sorry for your loss."_

She glanced at Aegir and Freyr. She didn't know what they felt over Thor's death. They'd said that they were based off her programming so she thought it likely that they were feeling a sense of loss too.

Turning her attention back to John, she remembered his reaction after Riley's death and confronting Jesse; how he'd turned to her but she hadn't known how to respond so he'd broken down in Sarah's arms instead. Now Sarah was gone and Cameron knew that she was all he had left. She snaked her right arm between his back and the seat and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling him gently towards her. She'd expected him to cry and collapse into her lap as he had done with Sarah, but instead he remained unresponsive.

"I'm sorry," she said to him.

"What for?" he asked, finally breaking his silence.

"I should have driven the truck at Ronin instead of your mother. I would have survived the blast."

"Maybe," John said, not as sure as she was. She'd said it herself that she wasn't one hundred percent.

"I survived Sarkissian's car bomb," she said, knowing that that was what he was referring to. Mentioning it made her recall the blast, and what happened afterwards. "I might have gone bad again." A scenario played out in her mind then: her trying to kill John while the Vanguards fought Ronin, unable to disengage from their fight to stop her and Sarah being able to do very little, either. She didn't say it to John but as she thought about it she concluded that it was better that she hadn't taken Sarah's place in the truck.

"You wouldn't have," John said. "But I wouldn't want to risk losing you, either. It's not your fault," he said.

Changing the subject of discussion, Cameron glanced out the window John had been staring out of. "What were you looking at out there?" she asked him.

"I was thinking," he said.

"What about?"

John stood up suddenly. "We need to talk." He glanced at the Vanguards in the seats ahead, towards the front of the plane. "Alone," he added. He strode down the plane towards the rear, where there was a small kitchenette and the toilet cubicle. He opened the door to the restroom and went inside, gesturing Cameron to join him.

She did and closed and locked the door behind her. With two of them inside the cubicle it was very cramped. John put down the toilet lid and sat on it, while Cameron stood facing him. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked, unsure why they were in the restroom.

"What are we doing here?" John asked, speaking in a low voice. He didn't want Aegir and Freyr to overhear what he had to say.

"You said you wanted to talk."

"Not _here,_ here. I mean: what are we doing, flying around the world and risking our necks? Mom was right all along; we're Weaver's errand boys. Mom just died following her orders. Who's next: you? Me? Maybe we're better off on our own."

"You don't trust Catherine Weaver."

"Do you?" John asked her.

"No," Cameron admitted. "She's keeping secrets from us."

"She always will," John said. "She likes to have leverage; something to make us do what she wants. She can do her own dirty work from now on."

"Where will we go?" Cameron asked.

"I haven't figured that part out yet but we managed before; you, me and Mom. We can do it again."

"What about Aegir and Freyr? They could help keep you safe."

"They're loyal to John Henry, and he's Weaver's servant as much as we are. It's too much of a risk; I don't want her knowing where we are."

Cameron frowned. "They're also loyal to me."

"Then they'd be serving two masters. I'd rather it just be us."

"When do you want to tell Weaver?"

"As soon as we're back," John said. "We'll go and we won't look back. We never should have dealt with her in the first place." He'd made a lot of mistakes in his life: he'd been a dick to his foster parents Todd and Janelle, and they'd been killed; he'd sometimes been a dick to his Mom, and she'd been killed too. He had a boatload of regrets, but the biggest one of all was ever making common cause with Catherine Weaver. It was a mistake that had cost him dearly, but no more.

* * *

 _ **Serrano Point, California**_

 _ **Monday 1900 PST**_

Inside the empty radioactive waste storage depot, Weaver stood while James Ellison and Savannah sat opposite John Henry. He was teaching her to play chess, and although the girl was bright she didn't seem to be a very good student of the game. Watching her, Ellison could tell that she was bored of it. She liked playing with her friend, though, and seemed happy enough to do whatever it was that he wanted to do.

He'd noticed that she hadn't spoken to her 'mother' very much, despite telling him several times that she missed her. He wondered if she was getting used to not having her around, and although it was sad, he didn't know any more whether that was even a bad thing. _She'll have to find out sometime; maybe if she's not so close it won't hurt too badly later._ He didn't want to imagine what kind of damage finding out that her mother had been killed and replaced by a machine impostor would do to a kid. What he _did_ want to find out, though, was what Catherine Weaver was planning for her unwitting daughter. He hadn't been able to speak to John Henry about it since their last talk, and it was bothering him.

"Contact the mercenaries I approved and tell them to report to the plant tomorrow morning," she instructed John Henry.

"What happened to the mercenaries you didn't select?" John Henry asked Weaver, looking up from his game. "You drove them to Los Angeles International airport but there are no records of them checking in or boarding their respective flights."

"I offered them alternative employment in Copenhagen," she answered.

John Henry frowned. "You shouldn't have done that," he replied.

"They can't reveal any secrets in Copenhagen."

"Am I missing something here?" Ellison asked, getting the feeling that they were talking about something else. This wasn't the first he'd heard about mercenaries. He supposed she was just hiring people to do to Kaliba what they'd been doing to ZeiraCorp. Weaver had the money but one thing they sorely lacked at the moment was manpower.

"It's confidential," Weaver said, nodding towards Savannah for emphasis. It wasn't for her ears to hear. She wasn't ready for such things. Not yet. _Soon._

The screen behind John Henry changed to the image of a black SUV driving through the security gate and proceeding to one of the parking lots. The footage shifted from one camera to another to follow the vehicle. Once it was parked the doors opened and four figures got out; two of them giants.

"John's back," John Henry announced.

"I'll go out to them," Ellison said. He left the room and quickly walked out of the storage unit, taking the stairs up to ground level and walking across the plant grounds towards them. On his right-hand side he could hear and just about see the ocean. The sky was dark blue and so was the sea; waves glistening invitingly in the moonlight. It could have been mistaken for a pleasant day if not for two things: first that despite the earlier sunshine the air was now uncomfortably chilly; and as he approached John's group he noticed that they were two shy from when they'd left. Thor was gone and so was Sarah. Freyr carried a black body bag in his hands and John had a face like thunder.

"John, I'm so sorry about your mom," Ellison said as he reached them.

"Yeah," John said, walking right past him. "Everyone's always sorry." He knew someone who wouldn't be, though.

"What happened, exactly?" he asked Cameron.

"She died."

"If you need anything at all–"

He never got to finish as John quickened his pace, marched into the storage units and went into John Henry's chamber. The AI buzzed him inside, unlocking the thick door to allow them entry.

"Congratulations," Weaver said to John as he entered. "The factory's been completely destroyed." Behind John Henry a satellite image of Pripyat appeared. Where the factory had once been, there was now a smoking crater two hundred metres in diameter and covered in debris, with further damage spreading out to almost a thousand metres. "It's a pity you didn't manage to acquire any of their technology."

John glared at her as Cameron, Aegir and Freyr followed him into the room and the door closed behind them. If it had been anyone else he might not have been able to believe what he was hearing, after all that had happened. Sadly, he found himself not surprised in the least. "No," he said. "We were too busy being slaughtered."

"That's unfortunate," Weaver replied.

"Sure it is," John spat back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

It wasn't lost on Weaver. "It is," she said. "Your mother's loss is unfortunate, as is Thor's."

"Two more assets you don't have," John sneered. "That's all any of us are to you, isn't it? Even _her."_ He pointed at Savannah, who was watching their exchange.

Weaver turned to glance at Ellison and Savannah. "Could you take her outside, please?" she said to Ellison. He nodded and led the girl outside the room, knowing that things might be said that Savannah would be better off not hearing.

Once both of them were gone, Weaver turned her attention back to John. He needed to learn how things were, how the world was and how it would be if they failed to stop Skynet. His combative attitude towards her was frustrating; it made accomplishing their goals that much more difficult.

"Again, you misunderstand me, John Connor. I'm a cyborg: I don't do sentimentality. Nothing I say or do will bring her back, so what would be the point in feigning compassion? Aegir and Freyr lost their commander but you don't see them complaining. They know that loss in combat is inevitable."

"They're fucking machines! It's not like they're gonna cry!" John snarled. He didn't notice the sadness and disappointment that fleetingly washed over Cameron's face on hearing his words. But Weaver did. She moved in for the kill.

"Didn't your mother tell you that she'd had a cancer screening while you were in Kiev?" By the look on his face she assumed that Sarah hadn't. "Sarah asked me to book her in for tests on Thursday. I had the results back last night and she tested positive. If she hadn't died yesterday then she would have within twelve months."

John stared at her, agape. He turned back to Cameron, knowing that sometimes his mother did occasionally confide in her; she might have asked Cameron to keep it a secret. "Did she tell you about that?"

"No," Cameron replied.

"We didn't know, either," Freyr said.

He turned back to Weaver, rage boiling under his skin. He wished he still had a gun so he could have opened up on her. It wouldn't have done anything but it would have made him feel a little better. "You're saying that it didn't matter that she was killed in Ukraine because she'd have died anyway." It wasn't a question; simply summarising it aloud. "Next time you can do the dirty work yourself," he said. "I'm done." He couldn't stand seeing her for another moment. John opened the door and stormed out. An instant later, Cameron followed him out of view.

John Henry watched via CCTV as they took the keys from Ellison and got into the Lincoln Navigator, then drove out of the plant, speeding away.

"Put the body bag down there," Weaver said, pointing to the far end of the room. "I'll arrange for a burial when John's calmed down."

Freyr did as she said and gently lowered Sarah's body down to the floor. When he was done, Weaver addressed them both. "I need you two to–"

"We don't follow your orders," Aegir said curtly.

"You follow John Henry's orders," Weaver replied. "And he follows mine."

"He's not ready to command yet," Freyr said. "When he is, we'll be back."

"Until then we'll take the fight to Skynet. On our terms." With that, Aegir and Freyr exited the chamber, leaving Weaver alone with John Henry. It was only seven days old but their fledgling alliance was already broken.

XXX

End of Part Two.

The story continues in Enemy of My Enemy: Vengeance


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